




Class 

Book 






















TWO SOLDIERS, 


AND 

DUNRAYEN RANCH. 

TWO NOVELS. 


BY 

CAPT. CHARLES KING, U.S.A., 

M 

AUTHOR OF “THE COLONEL’S DAUGHTER,” “MARION’S FAITH,” “KITTY’S 

CONQUEST,” ETC., ETC. 



PHILADELPHIA.' 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

1907 



Copyright, 1888, by J. B. Lippincott Company 


Copyright, 1890, by J. B. Lippincott Company, 


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TWO SOLDIERS. 







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TWO SOLDIERS. 


I. 

T HE rain was plashing dismally on the grimy window-sill and over 
the awning of the shops below. The street-cars went jingling by 
with a dripping load of outside passengers on both platforms. Wagons 
and drays, cabs and closed carriages, that rattled or rumbled along 
the ordinarily busy thoroughfare, looked as though they had been 
dipped in the river before being turned loose on the street, and their 
Jehus, a bedraggled lot, must needs have had something amphibious 
in their composition, else they could not have borne up against the 
deluge that had been soaking the city for two days past. The police- 
man, waddling aimlessly about at the opposite corner, enveloped in 
rubber cap and overcoat, cast occasional wistful glances into the bar-room 
across the way, wherein the gas was burning in deference to the general 
gloom that overhung the neighborhood, and such pedestrians as had to 
be abroad hurried along under their umbrellas as though they half 
expected to have to swim before they could reach their destination. 
The dense cloud of sooty smoke that had overhung the metropolis for 
weeks past, and that wind from any direction could never entirely dis- 
sipate, for the simple reason that smoke-stacks by the score shot up in 
the outskirts on every side, now seemed to be hurled upon the roofs 
and walls, the windows and the pavement, in a black, pasty, carbo- 
niferous deposit, and every object out of doors that one could touch 
would leave its inky response upon the hand. A. more depressing 
“ spell of weather” had not been known for a year, and every living 
being in sight seemed saturated with the general gloom, — every living 
being except one : Captain Fred Lane, of the Eleventh Cavalry, was 
sitting at the dingy window of his office in the recruiting rendezvous 
on Sycamore Street and actually whistling softly to himself in supreme 
contentment. 


1 * 


5 


6 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Two missives had reached him that ghastly morning that had served 
to make him impervious to wind or weather. One — large, formal, im- 
pressive, and bearing the stamp of the War Department in heavy type 
across its upper corner — had borne to him the notification of his pro- 
motion to the rank of Captain (Troop D) Eleventh Cavalry, vice 
Curran, retired. The other — a tiny billet — had given him even greater 
happiness. It might be hard to say how many times he had read and 
re-read it since he found it on the snowy cloth of his particular break- 
fast-table in his particular corner of the snug refectory of “ The Queen 
City,” on the books of which most respectable if somewhat venerable 
club his name had been borne among the list of Army or Navy Mem- 
bers ever since his “ graduation-leave,” fifteen years before. 

All his boyhood, up to the time of his winning his cadetship at 
West Point, had been spent in the city where for the past sixteen 
months he had considered himself fortunate in being stationed on re- 
cruiting-service. During the second year of his term at the Academy 
he was startled by the receipt of a sad letter from his mother, telling 
him briefly that his father, long one of the best-known among the 
business-men of the city, had been compelled to make an assignment. 
What was worse, he had utterly broken down under the strain, and would 
probably never be himself again. Proud, sensitive, and honorable, Mr. 
Lane had insisted on paying to the uttermost farthing of his means. 
Even the old homestead went, and the broken-hearted man retired with 
his faithful wife to a humble roof in the suburbs. There, a few months 
afterwards, he breathed his last, and there, during Fred’s graduating 
year, she followed him. When the boy entered on his career in the 
army he was practically alone in the world. Out of the wreck of his 
father’s fortune there came to him a little sum that started him in the 
service free from debt and that served as a nest-egg to attract future 
accumulations. This he had promptly banked until some good and 
safe investment should present itself, and, once with his regiment on 
the frontier, Mr. Lane had found his pay ample for all his needs. 

It is unnecessary to recount the history of his fifteen years’ service 
as a subaltern. Suffice it to say that, steering clear of most of the 
temptations to which young officers were subjected, he had won a repu- 
tation as a capital “ duty-officer,” that was accented here and there by 
some brilliant and dashing exploits in the numerous Indian cam- 
paigns through which the Eleventh had passed with no small credit. 
Lane was never one of the jovial souls of the regiment. His mood 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


7 


was rather taciturn and contemplative. He read a good deal, and spent 
many days in the saddle exploring the country in the neighborhood of 
his post and in hunting and fishing. 

But, from the colonel down, there was not a man in the Eleventh 
who did not thoroughly respect and like him. Among the ladies, how- 
ever, there were one or two who never lost an opportunity of giving the 
lieutenant a feline and not ineffective clawing when his name came up 
for discussion in the feminine conclaves occasionally held in the regi- 
ment. Sometimes, too, when opportunity served, he was made the victim 
of some sharp or sarcastic speech that was not always easy to bear in 
silence. Mrs. Judson, wife of the captain of B Troop, was reputed to 
be “ down on Lane,” and the men had no difficulty whatever in locating 
the time when her change of heart took place. 

The truth of the matter was that, thanks to simple habits and 
to hi 3 sense of economy, Lane had quite a snug little balance in the 
bank, and the ladies of the regiment believed it to be bigger than it 
really was ; and, having approved the furnishing and fitting up of his 
quarters, the next thing, of course, that they essayed to do was tc 
provide him with a wife. There the trouble began. Simultaneously 
wit! the arrival of his first bar as a first lieutenant there came 
fron the distant East Mrs. Judson’s younger sister “Emmy” and 
Mrs. Loring’s pretty niece Pansy Fletcher. Lane was prompt to 
call on both, to take the young ladies driving or riding, to be attentive 
anl courteous in every way ; but, while he did thus “ perceive a divided 
duty,” what was Mrs. Loring’s horror on discovering that pretty 
Pansy had fallen rapturously in love with “Jerry” Lattimore, as 
aandsome, reckless, and impecunious a young dragoon as ever lived, 
and nothing but prompt measures prevented their marriage! Miss 
Fletcher was suddenly re-transported to the East, whither Jerry was 
too hard up to follow ; and then, in bitterness of heart, Mrs. Loring 
blamed poor Fred for the whole transaction. “ Why had he held 
aloof and allowed that — that scamp — that ne’er-do-weel — to cut in and 
win that innocent child’s heart, as he certainly did do?” Against 
Lattimore the vials of her wrath were emptied cor am publico , but 
against Lane she could not talk so openly. 

Mrs. Judson had beheld the sudden departure of Miss Pansy with 
an equanimity she could barely disguise. Indeed, there were not lack- 
ing good Christians in the garrison who pointed significantly to the 
fact that she had almost too hospitably opened her doors to Miss 


8 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Fletcher and her lover during that brief but volcanic romance. Certain 
it is, however, that it was in her house and in a certain little nook off 
the sitting-room that their long, delicious meetings occurred almost 
daily, the lady of the house being busy about the dining-room, the 
kitchen, or the chambers overhead, and Emmy, who was a good girl, 
but densely uninteresting, strumming on the piano or yawning over a 
book at the front window. 

“ What Mr. Lane needs is a gentle, modest, domestic little woman 
who will make his home a restful, peaceful refuge always,” said Mrs. 
Judson ; and, inferentially, Emmy was the gentle and modest creiture 
who was destined so to bless him. The invitations to tea, the lures by 
which he was induced to become Emmy’s escort to all the hope and 
dances, redoubled themselves after Miss Fletcher’s departure ; but it 
was all in vain. Without feeling any particular affinity fol Mr. 
Lane, Emmy stood ready to say “ Yes” whensoever he should ask ; 
but weeks went on, he never seemed to draw nearer the subject, 
and just as Mrs. Judson had determined to resort to heroic measures 
and point out that his attentions to Emmy had excited the remark 
of the entire garrison, and that the poor child herself was looking wan 
and strange, there was a stage-robbery not twenty miles from the 
post. Lane, with fifteen troopers, was sent in pursuit of the des- 
peradoes, and captured them, after a sharp fight, ninety miles up the 
river and near the little infantry cantonment at the Indian reserra- 
tion; and thither the lieutenant was carried with a bullet through 
his thigh. By the time he was well enough to ride, the regiment was 
again in the field on Indian campaign, and for six months he never saw 
Fort Curtis again. When he did, Emmy had gone home, and Mrs 
Judson’s politeness was something awful. 

Lane was out with the Eleventh again in three more sharp and 
severe campaigns, received an ugly bullet-wound through the left shoul- 
der in the memorable chase after Chief Joseph, was quartermaster 
of his regiment a year after that episode, then adjutant, and finally was 
given the recruiting-detail as he neared the top of the list of first lieu- 
tenants, and, for the first time in fifteen years, found himself once 
more among the friends of his youth, — and still a bachelor. 

Securing pleasant quarters in the adjoining street, Mr. Lane speedily 
made himself known at the club to which he had been paying his mod- 
erate annual dues without having seen anything of it but its bills for 
years past, yet never knowing just when he might want to drop in. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


9 


Then he proceeded, after office hours, to hunt up old chums, and 
in the course of the first week after his arrival he had found almost 
all of them. Bailey, who sat next him in school, was now a promi- 
nent and prosperous lawyer. Terry, who sat just behind him and 
occasionally inserted crooked pins in a convenient crack in his chair, 
was thriving in the iron business. Warden had made a fortune “ on 
’Change,” and was one of the leading brokers and commission-mer- 
chants of the metropolis. He had always liked Warden : they lived 
close together, and used to walk to and from school with each other 
almost every day. Mr. Lane had started on his quest with a feeling 
akin to enthusiasm. Calm and reticent and retiring as he generally 
was, he felt a glow of delight at the prospect of once more meeting 
“ the old crowd but that evening he returned to his rooms with a 
distinct sense of disappointment. Bailey had jumped up and shaken 
hands with much effusion of manner, and had “ my-dear-fellow”-ed him 
for a minute or two, and then, “ Now, where are you stopping ? I’ll 
be round to look you up the very first evening I can get away, and 
— of course we’ll have you at the house but Lane clearly saw he 
was eager to get back to his desk, and so took his leave. Terry did 
not know him at all until he began to laugh, and then he blandly in- 
quired what he’d been doing with himself all these years. But the 
man who rasped him from top to toe was Warden. Business hours 
were over, and their meeting occurred at the club. Two minutes after 
they had shaken hands, Warden was standing with his back to the 
log fire, his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, tilting on his 
toes, his head well back, and most affably and distinctly patronizing 
him. 

“ Well, Fred, you’re still in the army, are you ?” he asked. 

“ Still in the array, Warden.” 

“Well, what on earth do you find to do with yourself out there? 
How do you manage to kill time ?” 

“ Time never hung heavily on my hands. It often happened that 
there wasn’t half enough for all we had to do.” 

“ You don’t tell me ! Why, I supposed that about all you did was 
to drink and play poker.” 

“ Not an unusual idea, I find, Warden, but a very unjust one.” 

“ Oh, yes, I know, of course, you have some Indian-fighting to do 
once in a while ; but that probably amounts to very little. I mean 
when you’re in permanent camp or garrison. I should think a man of 

A* 


10 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


jour temperament would just stagnate in such a life. I wonder you 
hadn’t resigned years ago and come here and made a name for your- 
self.” 

u The life has been rather more brisk than you imagine,” he an- 
swered, with a quiet smile, “ and I have grown very fond of my pro- 
fession. But you speak of making a name for myself. Now, in what 
would that have consisted ?” 

“ Oh, well, of course, if you really like the army and living in a 
desert and that sort of thing, Fve nothing to say,” said Warden ; “ but 
it always struck me as such a — such a — well, Fred, such a wasted life, 
all very well for fellows who hadn’t brains or energy enough to achieve 
success in the real battle of life” (and here Warden was “ swelling visi- 
bly”), “ but not at all the thing for a man of your ability. We all 
conceded at school that you were head and shoulders above the rest of 
us. We were talking of it some years ago here in this very room : 
there’d been something about you in the papers, — some general or other 
had mentioned you in a report. Let’s see : didn’t you get wounded, 
or something, chasing some Indians ?” Lane replied that he believed 
that “ something like that had happened,” but begged his friend to go 
on; and Warden proceeded to further expound his views : 

“Now, you might have resigned years ago, taken hold of your 
father’s old business, and made a fortune. There’s been a perfect boom 
in railroad iron and every other kind of iron since that panic of ’73. 
Look at Terry : he is rolling in money, — one of our most substantial 
men ; and you know he was a mere drone at school. Why, Fred, 
if your father could have held on six months longer he’d have been 
the richest man in town to-day. It always seemed to me that he made 
such a mistake in not getting his friends to help him tide things over.” 

“ You probably are not aware,” was the reply, “ that he went to 
friend after friend, — so called, — and that it was their failure or refusal 
to help that broke him down. The most active man in pushing him 
to the wall, I am told, was Terry’s father, who had formerly been his 
chief clerk.” 

“Well,” answered Warden, in some little confusion, for this and 
other matters in connection with the failure of Samuel Lane & Co., 
years before, were now suddenly recalled to mind, “ that’s probably true. 
Business is business, you know, and those were tough times in the 
money market. Still, you could have come back here when you left 
Wsst Point, and built up that concern again, and been a big may 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


11 


to-day, — had your own establishment here, married some rich girl — 
you’re not married, are you ?” 

Lane shook his head. 

“ On the other hand, then, you’ve been fooling away all this time in 
the army, and what have you got to show for it ?” 

“ Nothing — to speak of,” was the half-whimsical, half-serious 
answer. 

“ Well, there ! Now don’t you see ? That’s just what I’m driving 
at. You’ve thrown away your opportunities. — All right, Strong : I’ll 
be with you in a minute,” he called to a man who was signalling to him 
from the stairway. “ Come in and see us, Fred. Come and dine with 
us, — any day. We’re always ready for friends who drop in. I want 
you to meet Mrs. Warden and see my house. Now excuse me, will you ? 
I have to take a hand at whist.” And so away went Warden, leaving 
Lane to walk homeward and think over the experiences of the day. 

He had “ made a name for himself” that was well known from the 
Yellowstone to the Colorado. Thrice had that name been sent to the 
President with the recommendation of his department commander for 
brevets for conspicuous and gallant conduct in action against hostile 
Indians. The Pacific coast had made him welcome. Busy San Fran 
cisco had found time to read the Alta’s and the Chronicle’s correspond- 
ence from the scene of hostilities, and cordially shook hands with the 
young officer who had been so prominent in more than one campaign. 
Santa F6 and San Antonio, Denver, Cheyenne, and Miles City, were 
points where he could not go without meeting “ troops of friends.” It 
was only when he got back to his old home in the East that the lieu- 
tenant found his name associated only with his father’s failure, and that 
his years of honorable service conveyed no interest to the friends of his 
youth. “ Money makes the mare go,” said Mr. Warden, in a subsequent 
conversation ; and money, it seems, was what he meant in telling Lane 
he should have come home and “ made a name for himself.” 

Lane had been on duty a year in the city when a rumor began 
to circulate, to the effect that investments of his in mining stocks 
had brought him large returns, and men at the club and matronly 
women at the few parties he attended began asking significant questions 
which now it pleased him to parry rather than answer directly. His 
twelve months’ experiences in society had developed in him a somewhat 
sardonic vein of humor and made him, if anything, more reticent than 
before. And then — then all of a sudden there came over the spirit ot 


12 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


his dream a marked a*nd wondrous change. He no longer declined in- 
vitations to balls, parties, or dinners when he knew that certain persons 
were to be present. Mabel Vincent had just returned from a year’s tour 
abroad, and Lieutenant Fred Lane bad fallen in love at first sight. 

It was a note from her that made even that dingy old office, on 
this most dismal of days, fairly glow and shine with a radiance of 
hope, with a halo of joy and gladness such as his lonely life had never 
known before. The very first time he ever saw himself addressed as 
Captain Fred Lane, Eleventh Cavalry, was in her dainty. hand. He 
turned his chair to the window to read once again the precious words ; 
but there entered, dripping, a Western Union messenger with a telegram. 

Tearing it open, Lane read these words : “ All join in congratula- 
tions on your promotion and in wonderment at the colonel’s selection 
of your successor. Noel is named.” 

Lane gave a long whistle of amazement. “ Of all men in the regi- 
ment 1” he exclaimed. “ Who would have thought of Gordon Noel ?” 


II. 

The colonel of the Eleventh Cavalry was a gentleman who had 
some peculiarities of temperament and disposition. This fact is not 
cited as a thing at all unusual, for the unbiassed testimony of the 
subalterns and even the troop commanders of every cavalry regiment 
in service would go far towards establishing the fact that all colonels 
of cavalry are similarly afflicted. One of the salient peculiarities of 
the commanding officer of the Eleventh was a conviction that nothing 
went smoothly in the regiment unless the captains were all on duty 
with their companies ; for, while at any time Colonel Riggs would ap- 
prove an application for a lieutenant’s leave of absence, it was worse 
than pulling teeth to get him to do likewise for a gentleman with the 
double bars on his shoulder. “ Confound the man !” growled Captain 
Greene, “ here I’ve been seven years with my troop, saving up for a 
six months’ leave, and the old rip disapproves it ! What on earth can 
a fellow say ?” 

“ You didn’t go about it right, Greeney,” was the calm rejoinder 
of a comrade who had been similarly “cut” the year previous. “ You 
should have laid siege to him through Madame a month or so. What 
she says as to who goes on leave and who doesn’t is law at head-quar- 
ters, and I know it. Now, you watch Noel. That fellow is wiser in 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


13 


bis generation than all the rest of us put together. It isn’t six months 
since he got back from his staff detail, and you see how constant he is 
in his attentions to the old lady. Now, I’ll bet you anything you like 
the next plum that tumbles into the regiment will go to his maw and 
nobody else’s/’ 

“ Riggs wouldn’t have the face to give anything to Noel, — in the 
way of detached duty, I mean. I heard him say when ‘ Gordy’ was 
coming back to the regiment that he wished he had the power to trans- 
fer subs from troop to troop : he’d put Noel with the most exacting 
captain he knew and see if he couldn’t get a little square service out 
of the fellow.” 

“ That’s all right, Greene. That’s what he said six months ago, 
before Noel was really back, and before he had begun doing the de- 
voted to her ladyship at head-quarters. Riggs wouldn’t say so now, 
— much less do it. She wouldn’t let him, comrade mine ; and you 
know it.” 

“ Noel has been doing first-rate since he got back, Jim,” said Cap- 
tain Greene, after a pause. 

“ Oh, Noel’s no bad soldier in garrison, — at drill or parade. It’s 
field-work and scouting that knocks him endwise; and if there’s an 

Indian within a hundred miles Well, you know as much as I do 

on that subject.” 

Greene somewhat gloomily nodded assent, and his companion, being 
wound up for the day, plunged ahead with his remarks : 

“Now, I’m just putting this and that together, Greene, and I’ll 
make you a bet. Riggs has managed things ever since he has been 
colonel so that a lieutenant is ordered detached for recruiting-service 
and never a captain. It won’t be long before Lane gets his promotion ; 
and I’ll bet you that even before he gets it Riggs will have his letter 
skimming to Washington begging his immediate recall and nominating 
a sub to take his place. I’ll give you odds on that ; and I’ll bet you 
even that the sub he names will be Gordy Noel.” 

But, though he scouted the idea, Greene would not l>et, for at that 
instant the club-room was invaded by a rush of young officers just 
returning from target-practice, and the jolliest laugh, the most all- 
pervading voice, the cheeriest personality, of the lot were those of the 
gentleman whose name Captain Jim Rawlins had just spoken. 

“ What you going to have, fellows ?” he called. “ Here, Billy, old 
man, put up that spelter : I steered the gang in here, and it’s my treat 


14 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Don't go, Forbes ; come back, old fellow, and join ns. Captain, what 
shall it be? Say, you all know Dick Cassidy of the Seventh? 
I heard such a good rig on him this morning. I got a letter from 
Tommy Craig, who's on duty at the War Department, and he told me 
that Dick was there trying to get one of these blasted college details. 
What d'ye suppose a cavalryman wants to leave his regiment for, to 
take a thing like that ?" 

“ Perhaps his health is impaired, Noel,'' said Wharton, with a 
humorous twinkle in his handsome eyes. “Even cavalrymen have 
been known to have to quit their beloved profession on that account 
and get something soft in the East for a year or so.” 

The color mounted to Noel's cheeks, but he gave no other sign 
of understanding the shaft as aimed at him. Promptly and loudly as 
ever he spoke out : 

“ Oh, of course, if he's used up in service and has to go in to re- 
cuperate, all well and good ; but I always supposed Cassidy was a 
stalwart in point of health and constitution. Who's going to the doctor's 
to-night? — you, Jack?” 

Jack — otherwise Lieutenant John Tracy — shook his head as he 
whiffed at the cigarette he had just lighted and then stretched forth his 
hand for the foaming glass of beer which the attendant brought him, 
but vouchsafed no verbal reply. Lee and Martin edged over to where 
the two captains were playing their inevitable game of seven-up. Two 
of the juniors, — young second lieutenants, — despite the extreme cor- 
diality of Noel's invitation, begged to be excused, as they did not care 
to drink anything, — even a lemonade ; and no sooner had the party fin- 
ished their modest potation than there was a general move. Wallace 
and Hearn went in to the billiard-room; Wharton and Lee started 
in the direction of their quarters ; and presently Mr. Noel was the only 
man in the club-room without an occupation of some kind or a comrade 
to talk to. 

Now, why should this have been the case? Noel's whole manner 
was overflowing with jollity and kindliness; his eyes beamed and 
sparkled as he looked from one man to the other; he hailed each in 
turn by his Christian name and in tones of most cordial friendship ; 
he chatted and laughed and had comical anecdotes to tell the party ; 
he was a tall, stylish, fine-looking fellow, with expressive dark eyes 
and wavy dark-brown hair; his moustache was the secret envy of 
more than half his associates ; his figure was really elegant in its grace 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


15 


and suppleness ; his uniforms fitted him like a glove, and were invariably 
of Hatfield’s choicest handiwork. Appearances were with him in every 
sense of the word ; and yet there was some reason why his society was 
politely but positively shunned by several of his brother officers and 
“ cultivated” by none. 

It was only a few years after the great war when Gordon Noel 
joined the Eleventh from civil h*e. He came of an old and influen- 
tial family, and was welcomed in the regiment as an acquisition. He 
made friends rapidly, and was for two or three years as popular a 
youngster as there was in the service. Then the troop to which he was 
attached was ordered to the Plains, via Leavenworth. It was a long 
journey by boat, and by the time they reached the old frontier city 
orders and telegrams were awaiting them, one of which, apparently to 
Mr. Noel’s great surprise, detached him from his company and directed 
him to report for temporary duty at the War Department in the city 
of Washington. He was there eighteen months, during which time 
his regiment had some sharp battles with the Cheyennes and Kiowas 
in Kansas and the Indian Territory. Then a new Secretary of War 
gave ear to the oft-repeated appeals of the colonel of the Eleventh to 
have Mr. Noel and one or two other detached gentlemen returned to 
duty with their respective companies, and just as they were moving to 
the Pacific coast the absentees reported for duty and went along. At 
Vancouver and Walla Walla Noel seemed to regain by his joviality 
and good-fellowship what he had lost in the year and a half of his 
absence, though there were out-and-out soldiers in the Eleventh who 
said that the man who would stay on “ fancy duty” in Washington or 
anywhere else while his comrades were in the midst of a stirring cam- 
paign against hostile Indians couldn’t be of the right sort. 

Up in Oregon the Modoc troubles soon began, and several troops 
were sent southward from their stations, scouting. There were several 
little skirmishes between the various detachments and the agile In- 
dians, with no great loss on either side ; but when “ Captain Jack” 
retired to the natural fastness of the lava-beds, serious work began, and 
here Mr. Noel was found to be too ill to take part in the campaign, 
and was sent in to San Francisco to recuperate. The short but bloody 
war was brought to a close without his having taken part in any of its 
actions, but he rejoined after a delightful convalescence in San Fran- 
cisco (where it was understood that he had broken down only after 
riding night and day and all alone some three hundred miles through 


16 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the wilderness with orders to a battalion of his regiment that was 
urgently needed at the front), and was able to talk very glibly of what 
had occurred down in the Klamath Lake country. Then came his 
promotion to a first-lieutenancy, and, as luck would have it, to a troop 
stationed at the Presidio. For three months he was the gayest of the 
gay, the life of parties of every kind both in town and in garrison ; 
he was in exuberant health and spirits ; he danced night after night, 
and was the most popular partner ever welcomed in the parlors of 
hospitable San Francisco. And then all of a sudden there came tidings 
of an outbreak among the Arizona Apaches of so formidable a character 
that the division commander decided to send his Presidio troopers to 
reinforce the one regiment that was trying to cover a whole Territory. 
There was pathetic parting, with no end of lamentation, when Mr. Noel 
was spirited away with his lynx-eyed captain ; but they need not have 
worried, — those fair dames and damsels ; not a hair of his handsome 
head was in danger, for the — th had grappled with and throttled their 
foes before the detachment from the Eleventh were fairly in the Terri- 
tory, and the latter were soon ordered to return and to bring with them, 
as prisoners to be confined at Alcatraz, the leaders of the outbreak, 
who would be turned over to them by the — th. To hear Noel tell 
of these fierce captives afterwards was somewhat confusing, as, from 
his account, it would appear that they had been taken in hand-to-hand 
conflict by himself and a small detachment of his own troop ; but these 
were stories told only to over-credulous friends. 

The Eleventh came eastward across the Rockies in time to par- 
ticipate in the great campaign against the Sioux in ’76, and was on the 
Yellowstone when Custer and his favorite companies were being wiped 
out of existence on the Little Horn. The news of that tragedy made 
many a heart sick, and Mr. Noel was so much affected that when his 
comrades started to make a night ride to the front to join what was 
left of the Seventh, he was left behind, ostensibly to sleep off a violent 
headache. He promised to ride after and catch them the next day, but, 
through some error, got aboard General Terry’s steamer, the Far West, 
and made himself so useful looking after the wounded that the surgeon 
in charge was grateful, and, knowing nothing of his antecedents, gave 
him a certificate on which he based an application for leave on account 
of sickness, and went to Bismarck with the wounded, and thence to 
the distant East, where he thrilled clubs and dinner-tables with graphic 
accounts of the Custer battle and of how we got up just in time to 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


17 


save the remnant of the Seventh. The Eleventh fought all through 
the campaign of ’76 and the chase after Chief Joseph in ’77 ; but Noel 
was again on temporary duty at the War Department, and there he 
stayed until *78, by which time various officials had become acquainted 
with some of the facts in the case. The Eleventh “ cold-shouldered” 
him for a while after he got back ; but they happened to be now in a 
region where there were no “ hostiles,” and where hops, germans, theat- 
ricals, tableaux, and entertainments of all kinds were the rage. No 
other man could be half so useful to the ladies as Gordon Noel. He had 
just come from Washington, and knew everything ; and when they took 
him up and made much of him ’twas no use for the men to stand aloof ; 
they had to take him up too. Lane was adjutant of the regiment at 
this time ; and he, having seen every report and letter with reference to 
Mr. Noel that had been filed in the office, would hardly speak to him 
at all except when on duty, and this feeling was intensified when, a year 
or so later, they were suddenly hurried to Arizona on account of a wild 
dash of the Chiricahuas, and as the different companies took the field 
and hastened in the pursuit Mr. Noel was afflicted with a rheumatic 
fever of such alarming character that the youthful “ contract” surgeon 
who had accompanied his troop held him back at the railway and 
speedily sent him East on a three months’ sick-leave, which family influ- 
ence soon made six. And this was about the record and reputation that 
Mr. Noel had succeeded in making when Captain Rawlins was ready to 
bet Captain Greene that, despite it all, the regimental Adonis would get 
the recruiting-detail, vice Lane, for everybody knew Fred Lane so well 
as to prophesy that he would apply to be relieved and ordered to rejoin 
his regiment, and everybody was eager to see him take hold of poor 
old Curran’s troop, for if anybody could “ straighten it out” Lane 
could. 

The news that Noel was named by the colonel caused a sensation 
at regimental head-quarters which the Eleventh will probably not soon 
forget. " Old Riggs” had become the commander of the regiment after 
it seemed that the Indian wars were over and done with, and, thanks ta 
our peculiar system of promotion, was now at the head of an organiza- 
tion with which he had never served as subaltern, captain, or junior 
field-officer. Discipline forbade saying anything to his face, — for which 
the colonel was devoutly thankful, — but everybody said to everybody 
else that it was all Mrs. Riggs’s doing, a fact which the colonel very 
well knew. 

2 * 


18 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


So did Noel, though he rushed into the club-room apparently over* 
whelmed with amazement and delight : 

“I supposed of course it would be Follansbee. I never dreamed 
he would give it to me. Come up, crowd ! come up everybody ! It's 
champagne to-day,” he jovially shouted ; and there were men who 
could not bear to snub him openly. Nothing had really ever been 
proved against him : why should they judge him ? But there were 
several who declined, alleging one excuse or another, and even those 
who drank with him did so while applauding Wharton’s toast : 

“ Well, Noel, here’s to you ! It ought to have been Follansbee 
but I wish you the joy of it.” 


III. 

Never before had Fred Lane known the sensation of being reluc- 
tant to rejoin his regiment. When the colonel wrote a personal letter 
to him some eight or ten weeks previous, telling him that Curran 
would almost surely get the next vacancy on the retired list and that 
he would expect his old adjutant to come back to them at once and 
restore efficiency and discipline to Troop D, Mr. Lane replied with 
the utmost readiness ; but this was before Mabel Vincent came into his 
life and changed its whole current. How much and how devotedly he 
loved her, Lane himself never realized until the day his promotion 
reached him, and with it the news that his successor was already desig- 
nated. He knew that within the week he might expect orders from the 
War Department to join his troop at Fort Graham as soon as he had 
turned over his funds and property to the officer designated to relieve 
him ; he knew Noel so well as to feel assured that he would not wait 
for the arrival of formal orders, but, if the colonel would permit, would 
start the instant he received telegraphic notification from Washing- 
ton that “ Old Biggs’s” nomination had been approved. “ This is 
Wednesday,” he mused ; “ and by a week from to-day I can count on 
his being here ; and in ten days I must go.” 

There was a large party that night, and, fully a week before, he had 
asked that he might have the honor of being Miss Vincent’s escort. 
It was with great disappointment that he received her answer, which 
was spoken, however, in a tone of such sorrow that poor Lane felt 
that the barbs, at least, of the arrow had been removed. 

“ I don’t know how to tell you how I regret having to say ‘ No,’ 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


19 


Mr. Lane,” she said, and there was a tremor in her voice and a little 
quiver at the corners of her pretty mouth. “ I have almost felt con- 
fident that you were going to ask me, — is that a very bold thing to 
say ? — for you have been so — so kind to me since our first meeting, and 
indeed I wanted in some way to let you know that there were other 
arrangements already made. But how could I say anything? Mr. 
Rossiter, the eldest son of father’s former partner, comes to pay us a 
visit of four or five days before he goes abroad again. And he is 
a great friend of the Chiltons, and, being our guest, he goes with me. 
Indeed, I’m very sorry, Mr. Lane, if you are disappointed.” 

Fred, of course, begged that she should give herself no uneasiness. 
There was no other girl whom he had thought of taking. Mr. Ros- 
siter was very much to be envied, and he would like to call and pay 
his respects to that gentleman when he arrived. “ By all means do,” 
said Miss Vincent ; and, if not asking too much, would Mr. Lane get 
him a card at the club ? Brother Rex was away, or she wouldn’t 
trouble him. But Lane was delighted to be troubled. Anything she 
asked — any service he could render her — he flew with untold eager- 
ness to accomplish ; and, though properly jealous of the coming man, 
— this Mr. Rossiter, of whom he had never before heard mention, — he 
was eager to meet and entertain him. The gentleman was to arrive on 
Monday, and Lane spent a delightful evening at the Vincents’, won- 
dering why he hadn’t come. Tuesday would surely bring him, or an 
explanation, said Miss Mabel ; and on Tuesday Lane was prompt to 
call, and glad to spend another long evening at the hospitable old 
homestead, and stoutly did he hold his ground through three succes- 
sive relays of visitors, encouraged to do so by a certain look in his 
lady’s bright eyes that spoke volumes to his throbbing heart, and that 
very next morning at the club he found her dainty missive on his 
breakfast-table. How early she must have risen to write it ! — and to 
have seen the announcement of his promotion in the Washington de- 
spatches ! True, he remembered that it was frequently her pleasure to 
be up betimes to give her father his coffee ; for Vincent ptre was a 
business-man of the old school, who liked to begin early in the day. 
Of course he had seen the name in the Washington news and had 
read the paragraph to her : that was the way to account for it. But 
her note was a joy to him in its sweet, half-shy, half-confidential 
wording. She merely wrote to say that Mr. Rossiter had wired that 
he would be detained in New York until the end of the week; and 


20 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


now, if Captain Lane had really made no engagement, she would be 
glad indeed if he cared to renew the invitation which with such regret 
she was compelled a week ago to decline. Lane totally forgot his break- 
fast in his haste to rush to the writing-room and send her a reply. 

All “ The Queen City” had been quick to see or hear of his “ sudden 
smite” and consequent devotion to Mabel Vincent, and great was the 
speculation as to the probable result. 

“ How can she encourage him as she does ? What can she see in 
that solemn prig?” indignantly demanded Miss Fanny Holton, who 
had shown a marked interest in Mr. Lane during his first six months 
in society and had danced with him all through the season. “ He h 
one of the forlornest, stupidest men I ever knew, — utterly unlike what 
I supposed a cavalry officer to be.” 

“ And yet, Fanny dear, you were very much taken up with him 
the first winter, — last year, I mean,” was the reply of her most devoted 
and intimate friend. 

“ What an outrageous fib ! I wasn’t ; and if I was, it was because 
I wanted to draw him out, — do something to enliven him. Of course 
I danced with him a great deal. There isn’t a better dancer in town, 
and you know it, Maud : you’ve said so yourself time and again.” 

“ Well, you didn’t draw him out, — nor on. But the moment he 
sees Mabel Vincent he falls heels over head in love with her. Why, I 
never saw a man whose every look and word so utterly ‘gave him 
away,’ ” was Miss Maud’s characteristic and slangy reply. u And it’s 
my belief she’ll take him, too. She likes him well, and she says he 
knows more than any other man she has ever met. 

“He has money, too, and can resign and live here if she wants 
him to,” went on Miss Maud, after a pause which, oddly enough, her 
friend had not taken advantage of. 

“You don’t know anything about what Mabel Vincent will or 
won’t do, Maud. I’ve known her years longer than you have, and, 
though I’m awfully fond of her, and wouldn’t have this repeated for 
the world, — and you must swear never to repeat it to anybody, — I 
know her so well that I can say she doesn’t know her own mind now 
and would change it in less than six months if she did. She is as 
fickle in love as in her friendships ; and you can’t have forgotten how 
inseparable you and she were for three months at Madame Hoffman’s, 
and then how she fastened on Katherine Ward. I don’t care a snap 
of my finger whom Mr. Lane chooses to fall in love with, but if it’i 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


21 


Mabel Vincent he’d better insist on a short engagement and stand 
guard over her with his sword in the mean time. It’s 1 out of sight out 
of mind’ with her, and has been ever since she was four years old.” 

And so in the smoking-room at the club and in the feminine cliques 
and coteries in society the probability of Mabel Vincent’s accepting 
Lieutenant Lane was a matter of frequent discussion. But of all this 
chit-chat and speculation Captain Lane stood in profound ignorance 
as he entered his dark office that drenching Wednesday morning 
with her precious note in his waistcoat-pocket. He neither knew nor 
cared what old Vincent was worth : all he wanted was Mabel’s own 
sweet self, for he loved her with his whole heart and soul, with all 
the strength and devotion of his deep and loyal nature. He could 
hardly control his voice so as to speak in the conventional official tone 
to the sergeant in charge as the latter saluted him at the door-way 
and made the customary report of the presence of the detachment. 
Lane stepped into his little dressing-room and quickly appeared in his 
neat fatigue uniform. There wasn’t a ghost of a chance of would-be 
recruits wandering in that day ; but he was a stickler for discipline. He 
required his men to be always in their appropriate uniform, and never 
neglected wearing his own while in the office ; yet in all the Queen 
City no one but his little party, the applicants for enlistment, and the 
few citizens who came in on business had ever seen him except in civil- 
ian dress. 

“ These reports and returns all go in to-morrow, I believe ?” said 
Lane to his sergeant. 

“ They do, sir.” 

“ Well, will you take them in to the clerk again,” said Lane, blush- 
ing vividly, “ and tell him to alter that ‘ First Lieutenant’ to ‘ Captain’ 
wherever it occurs? The — official notification is just here,” he added, 
almost apologetically. 

“ Sure I’m glad to hear it, sir. All the men will be glad, sir ; and 
I’m proud to think that I was the first man to salute the captain to- 
day,” was the sergeant’s delighted answer. “ I’ll call Taintor in at once.” 

But Lane was blissfully thinking of the little note, now transferred 
to the breast-pocket of his uniform blouse, and of how not his honest 
old sergeant but sweet Mabel Vincent was the first to hail him by his 
new title ; and in thinking of the note and of her he failed to notice 
that, so far from coming at once, it was fully ten or fifteen minutes 
before Taintor, the clerk, put in an appearance, and when he did that 
his face was ashen-gray and his hand shook as though with palsy. 


22 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


“ The sergeant will tell you what is to be done with the papers, 
Taintor,” said Lane, conscious that he was blushing again, and conse- 
quently striving to appear engrossed in the morning paper. The man 
picked them up one after another and without a word ; he dropped one 
to the floor in his nervousness, but made a quick dive for it, and then 
for the door, as though fearful of detention. He hurried through the 
room in which the sergeant and one or two men were seated, and, reach- 
ing his big desk at a rear window, where he was out of sight, dropped 
the papers on the floor and buried his face in his shaking hands. 

A few minutes later the sergeant, coming into the little cubby-hole 
of a room in which Taintor had preferred to do his work, found him 
with his arms on the desk and his face hidden in them, and the soldier 
clerk was quivering and twitching from head to foot. 

“ What’s the matter with you, Taintor ?” growled the old soldier. 
“ Didn’t you promise me you’d quit drinking ?” 

The face that looked up into his was ghastly. 

“ It isn’t drink, sergeant,” moaned the man. “ At least, I haven’t 
exceeded for a month. I’ve got a chill, — an ague of some kind. 
Just let me run down to the drug-store and get some quinine, — with 
perhaps a little brandy. Then I can do this work. Do, sergeant. I 
won’t abuse your kindness.” 

“ W ell, go, then,” was the reluctant answer ; “but get back quick. 
And only one drink, mind you.” 

Taintor seized his cap and fairly tottered through the adjoining room 
to the stairway, down which he plunged madly, and, heedless of the 
pelting rain, darted across the street to the gas-lighted bar-room. 

“By G — d,” muttered the veteran sergeant, “there’s something 
worse than either whiskey or ague back of this ; and I could swear 
to it.” 


IV. 

Captain Lane, as has been said, allowed until the following 
Wednesday for the arrival of his regimental comrade Mr. Noel. He 
was not a little surprised, however, on the following Tuesday morning, 
as he sat at breakfast at the club, glancing over the morning paper, to 
come upon the following announcement : 

“ Distinguished Arrival. 

“Our readers will be interested in knowing that Captain Gordon Noel, 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


23 


of the Eleventh U.S. Cavalry, has been ordered on duty in the city, 
in charge of the cavalry rendezvous on Sycamore Street. Captain Noel 
comes to us with a reputation that should win instant recognition and 
the heartiest welcome from the Queen City. For nearly fifteen years he 
has served with his gallant regiment, and has been prominent in every 
one of the stirring campaigns against the hostile Indians of our Western 
frontier. He has fought almost every savage tribe on the continent ; 
was disabled in the Modoc campaign in ’73, commanded the advance- 
guard of his regiment that reached the scene of the Custer massacre 
only just in time to rescue the remnant of the regiment from a similar 
fate, and for his services on that campaign was awarded the compli- 
ment of staff duty in the city of Washington. At his own request, 
however, he was relieved from this, and rejoined his regiment when 
hostilities were threatened in Arizona two years ago. And now, as a 
reward for gallant and distinguished conduct in the field, he is given 
the prized recruiting-detail. Captain Noel is the guest of his cousin, 
the Hon. Amos Withers, at his palatial home on the Heights ; and our 
fair readers will be interested in knowing that he is a bachelor, and, 
despite his years of hardship, danger, and privation, is a remarkably 
fine-looking man. 

“ It is understood that Lieutenant Lane, the present recruiting 
officer, has been ordered to return to his regiment at onoe, although 
the time has not yet expired.” 

In the expression on Captain Lane’s face as he finished this item 
there was something half vexed, half comical. 

A few hours afterwards, while he was seated in his office, the 
orderly entered, and announced two gentlemen to see the captain. 
Lane turned to receive his visitors, but before be could advance 
across the dark room the taller of the two entering the door made a 
spring towards him, clapped him cordially on the back, and, with the 
utmost delight, shouted, “ How are you, old fellow ? How well you’re 
looking ! Why, I haven’t set eyes on you since we were out on the 
field hunting up old Geronimo’s trail! By Jove! but I’m glad to 
see you !” And Lane had no difficulty in recognizing at once his 
regimental comrade Gordon Noel. 

“ L 3 t me present you to my cousin, Mr. Withers,” said Noel. 

And a stout, florid man, whom Lane had often seen at the club, 


24 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


but to whom he had never hitherto been made known, bowed with 
much cordiality and extended his hand. 

“ I didn’t know,” said he, “ that you were a friend of Noel’s, or 
I’d have come to see you before, and invited you to my house.” 

“ Friend !” exclaimed Noel. “Friend! Why, we’ve been partners 
and chums ! Why, we’ve been all over this continent together, Withers ! 
Fred, do you remember the time we were up on the Sioux campaign ? — 
the night I went over with those fellows to hunt up the trail to the 
Custer ground ? Let’s see, you were acting adjutant then, if I recollect 
right. Oh, yes ; you were back with the colonel.” 

Lane received his guests with perfect courtesy, but without that 
overweening cordiality which distinguished the other’s manner, and 
then Mr. Withers entered into the conversation. Turning to Captain 
Lane, he said, — 

“ I didn’t know that you had been on the Sioux campaign. Were 
you there too ?” 

Lane replied quietly that he had been with his regiment through 
that year, — in fact, had never been away from it for any length of 
time, except on this detail which had brought him to his old home. 

“ Oh, yes ; I remember having heard that this was your home. I 
am very sorry indeed that you did not make yourself known to me 
before,” said Mr. Withers. “ You know that I am a very busy man 
and don’t get around much. Now you can come and dine with us 
this evening, can you not? Mrs. Withers will certainly expect you, 
now that Noel is here.” 

“ I am very sorry indeed, Mr. Withers, but I am already engaged.” 

“ You must make early bids if you want to get this young man, 
Amos,” put in Mr. Noel, affectionately patting Lane on the shoulder. 
“ It was just so in the regiment. He was always in demand. — Well, 
when can you come, Fred ? What evening shall we say ?” 

“ It will depend, perhaps, on the day I turn over the property to 
you. How soon do you wish to take hold ?” 

“ Oh, any time. Any day. Whenever you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready now, to-day, if you choose,” was Lane’s prompt 
response. “ I fancied you might be here by to-morrow.” 

“ Yes, you bet I didn’t let the grass grow under my feet. The 
moment we got the telegraphic notification that the colonel’s nomina- 
tion was approved, I lit out for the railroad,” said Noel, laughing 
gleefully. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


25 


“And when will you come in and take over the property ? There's 
a good deal of clothing to be counted. As for the funds, they, of 
course, are all in the bank." 

“ Suit yourself about that, Freddy, old boy. I'm going down 
street with Amos now. How'll to-morrow morning do ?" 

“Very well indeed. You will find me here any time you come in." 

“ All right. Now get out of your yellow stripes and come along 
down town with us. The carriage is right here at the door. We're 
going over to see the works, — Mr. Withers's foundries, you know. 
Come." 

“Yes, come with us. I think I have heard it was your father 
who — ah — who was in the same line of business at one time, Mr. 
Lane," said Mr. Withers. 

“ Captain Lane, Amos ! — Captain Lane ! Great Scott ! you mustn't 
‘ mister' a man who has been through the years of service he has." 

“ I beg pardon. I did not so understand you, Gordon, when we 
were talking last night with the — when we were having our smoke 
and chat after dinner. — You will come with us, won't you, captain ?" 

“I wish I could, Mr. Withers, but my office-hours have to be 
observed, and I cannot leave in the morning. Thank you heartily 
none the less. — Then you will be here to-morrow, Noel ?" 

“ To-morrow be it, Fred : so au revoir , if you can't join us. I 
mustn't keep Withers waiting, — business-man, you know. God bless 
you, old fellow, you don't begin to realize how delighted I am to see 
you! So long." 

“ But about dining with us, Captain " 

“ Oh, Lord, yes !" burst in Noel. “ What evening, now ? I'd 
almost forgotten. Getting in among bricks and mortar addles my 
head. 'Tisn't like being out in the saddle with the mountain breezes 
all around you : hey, Fred ? Gad ! I don't know whether I can 
stand this sort of thing, after our years of campaigning." And the 
lieutenant looked dubiously around upon the dark and dingy walls 
and windows. 

“Suppose we say Thursday evening, captain," suggested Mr. 
Withers ' “ and I'll have just a few friends to meet you two army 
gentlemen." 

“ I shall be very happy, Mr. Withers." 

“ Good ! That's the talk, Fred !" heartily shouted the lieutenant, 
bringing his hand down with a resounding whack between Lane's 

b a 


26 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


shoulder-blades. “Now we are off! Come along, Amos.” And 
the cousins disappeared down the dark stairway and popped into the 
carriage. 

“Not a very demonstrative man, your friend the captain, but 
seems to be solid,” was Mr. Withers’s remark. 

“ Oh, yes. He is about as solid as they make them,” answered Noel, 
airily. “ Lane has his faults, like most men. It is only those who really 
know him, who have been associated with him for years, and whom 
he trusts and likes, that are his friends. Now, Fd go through fire* 
and water for him, and he would for me, — but of course you wouldn’t 
think it, to see his perfectly conventional society manner this morning. 
If I had left you down at the foot of the stairs and had stolen up on 
tiptoe and gone over and put my arms round his neck, you would 
probably have found us hugging each other and dancing about that 
room like a couple of grizzly bears when you came up, and the mo- 
ment he caught sight of you he would have blushed crimson and got 
behind his ice screen in a second. You just ought to have seen him the 
night we met each other with our detachments down near Guadalupe 
Cafion when we were hunting Geronimo. Some d — d fool of a ranch- 
man had met him and said I was killed in the little affair we had with 
the Apache rear-guard. Why, I was perfectly amazed at the emotion 
he showed. Ever since then I’ve sworn by Fred Lane ; though, of 
course, he has traits that I wish he could get rid of.” 

“ Good officer, isn’t he ?” 

“ Ye — es, Lane isn’t half a bad soldier. Of course it remains to be 
seen what sort of captain he will make. He has only just got his troop.” 

“ But I mean he — well — is a brave man, — has shown up well in 
these Indian fights you were telling us about ?” 

“ H’m !” answered Noel, with a quiet little chuckle : “ if he wasn’t, 
you bet he wouldn’t have been all these years in the Eleventh. A 
shirk of any kind is just the one thing we won't stand. Why, Amos, 
when old Jim Blazer was our colonel during those years of the Sioux 
and Cheyenne and Nez Perc6 wars he ran two men out of the regi- 
ment simply because they managed to get out of field duty two suc- 
cessive years. Oh, no ! Lane’s all right as a soldier, or he wouldn’t be 
wearing the crossed sabres of the Eleventh.” 

Mr. Withers listened to these tales of the doings and sayings of the 
regiment with great interest. “ Lane might have been here a dozen 
years,” said he to himself, “ and no one in our community would have 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


27 


known anything at all about the dangers and hardships his comrades 
and he had encountered in their frontier service. It’s only when some 
fellow like Noel comes to us that we learn anything whatever of our 
army and its doings.” 

He took his cousin to the great moulding-works of which he was 
the sole head and proprietor, and presented his foremen and his clerks 
to the captain, and told them of his career in the Indian wars on the 
frontier, and then up on ’Change and proudly introduced “ my cousin 
Captain Noel” to the magnates of the Queen City ; and, though not one 
out of a dozen was in the least degree interested in “ the captain” or 
cared a grain of wheat what the army had done or was doing on the 
frontier, almost every man had time to stop and shake hands cordially 
with the handsome officer, for Amos Withers was said to be a man 
whose check for a round million would be paid at sight, and anybody 
who was first-cousin to that amount of “ spot cash” was worth stopping 
to chat with, even in the midst of the liveliest tussle ’twixt bull and 
bear on the floor of the Chamber of Commerce. A tall, gray-haired 
gentleman, with a slight stoop to his shoulders and rather tired, anxious 
eyes, who listened nervously to the shouts from “ the pit” and scanned 
eagerly the little telegraphic slips thrust into his hand by scurrying 
messenger-boys, was introduced as Mr. Vincent, and Mr. Vincent 
inquired if Noel knew Lieutenant — or rather Captain — Lane. 

“ Know Fred Lane ? He is the best friend I have in the world,” 
was the enthusiastic answer, “ and one of the best men that ever lived.” 

“ Ah ! I’m glad to know you, — glad to know what you say. The 
captain is a constant visitor at our house, a great friend of ours, in fact. 
Ah ! excuse me a moment.” And Mr. Vincent seized a certain well- 
known broker by the arm and murmured some eager inquiries in his 
ear, to which the other listened with ill-disguised impatience. 

Withers and, of course, “ the captain” were the centre of a cordial 
— not to say obsequious — group so long as they remained upon the 
floor, and the secretary presently came to them with the compliments 
of the president and a card admitting Captain Gordon Noel to the 
floor of the Chamber at any time during business hours, which that 
officer most gracefully acknowledged and then went on replying to the 
questions of his new friends about the strange regions through which he 
had scouted and fought, and the characteristics of the Indian tribes 
with whom he had been brought in contact. And by the time Cousin 
Amos declared they must go up to the club for luncheon, everybody 


28 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


was much impressed by the hearty, jovial manner of the dashing 
cavalryman, and there were repeated hand-shakes, promises to call, and 
prophecies of a delightful sojourn in their midst as he took his leave. 

“ Has Captain Lane come in yet to lunch ?” inquired Mr. Withers 
of the liveried attendant at “ The Queen City,” as his cousin inscribed 
his name and regiment in the visitors' book, as introduced by “A. W.,” 
in ponderous strokes of the pen. 

“ No, sir. It’s considerably past the time the gentleman generally 
comes. I don't think he'll be in to-day, sir.” 

“Then we won't wait, Gordon. We'll order for two. What wine 
do you like ?” 

********* 

Over at the dingy recruiting-office Captain Lane had forgotten 
about luncheon. There were evidences of carelessness on the part of 
the clerk who had made out his great batch of papers, and the further 
he looked the more he found. The orderly had been sent for Taintor, 
and had returned with the information that he was not at his desk. 
Sergeant Burns, when called upon to explain how it happened that he 
allowed him to slip away, promptly replied that it was half-past eleven 
when he came out of the captain's office and said that the captain 
would want him all the afternoon, so he had best go and get his dinner 
now. Half-past twelve came, arid he did not return. The sergeant 
went after him, and came back in fifteen minutes with a worried look 
about his face to say that Taintor had not been to dinner at all, and 
that the door of the little room he occupied was locked. He had not 
been in the house since eight that morning. 

“ I'm afraid, sir, he's drinkin' again,” said Burns; “but he's so 
sly about it I never can tell until he is far gone.” 

“ You go out yourself, and send two of the men, and make in- 
quiries at all his customary haunts,” ordered Lane. “ I will stay here 
and go through all these papers. None are right, so far. He never 
failed me before ; and I do not understand it at all.” 

But when night came Taintor was still missing, — had not been 
seen nor heard of, — and Captain Lane had written a hurried note to 
the lady of his love to say that a strange and most untoward case of 
desertion had just occurred which necessitated his spending some time 
with the Chief of Police at once. He begged her to make his excuses 
to her good mother for his inability to come to dinner Later in the 
evening he hoped to see her. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


29 


“ P.S. — Gordon Noel, who is to relieve me, has arrived. I have 
only three or four days more/’ 

“ Gordon Noel !” said Miss Vincent, pensively. “ Where have I 
heard of Gordon Noel ?” 


V. 

And now a matter has to be recorded which will go far to convince 
many of our readers that Captain Lane was even more of an old- 
fashioned prig than he has hitherto appeared to be. After leaving the 
Vincents’ late on the previous day, he had come to his rooms, and sat 
there for fully two hours in the endeavor to compose a brief, manly 
letter addressed to Vincent p&re. It was nothing more nor less than 
the old style of addressing a gentleman of family and requesting per- 
mission to pay his addresses to his daughter Mabel. A very difficult 
task was the composition of this letter for our frontier soldier. He 
was desperately in earnest, however ; time was short, and after several 
attempts the missive was completed. His first duty in the morning 
was to send that letter by an orderly to Mr. Vincent’s office. Then 
he turned to his sergeant and asked for news of the deserter. Not 
a word had been heard, — not a single word. 

“ I have been everywhere I could think of, sir,” said the sergeant, 
<c and both the men have been around his customary haunts last night 
and this morning making inquiries, but all to no purpose. The detec- 
tives came and burst into his trunk, and there was nothing in it worth 
having. He had been taking away his clothing, etc., from time to time 
in small packages and secreting them we don’t where. One thing I 
heard, sir, that I never knew before, and that was that after he had 
gone to bed at night he would frequently steal out of his room and go 
away and never reappear until breakfast-time in the morning. And 
now will the lieutenant — the captain pardon me for asking the question, 
Are the check-books all right, sir ?” 

“ What put that idea into your head ?” asked Lane. 

“ Well, sir, some of the men tell me that he was always writing at 
his desk, and once Strauss said that he had picked up a scrap of paper 
that he hadn’t completely destroyed, and the handwriting on it didn’t 
look like Taintor’s at all ; he said it more resembled that of the cap- 
tain ; and it made me suspicious. I never heard this until late last 
night.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


3G 


A sudden thought occurred to Lane. Taking out his check-book, 
he carefully counted the checks remaining and compared them with 
the number of stubs, and found, to his surprise and much to his dis- 
may, that at least five or six checks were missing. 

“ Send for a cab at once. I must go down to the bank. You 
stay here, and when Lieutenant Noel comes, give him my compliments, 
and ask him to sit down and wait awhile and read the morning paper. 
Til be back in a very short time.” 

Following the custom established by his predecessor, Captain Lane 
had always kept the recruiting-funds in the First National Bank. His 
own private funds he preferred to keep in an entirely different estab- 
lishment, — the Merchants’ Exchange. 

The cab whirled him rapidly to the building indicated, and, 
although it lacked half an hour of the time of opening, he made his 
way into the office and asked to see the paying teller. 

“ Will you kindly tell me if any checks on the recruiting- fund have 
lately been presented for payment ?” he eagerly asked. 

The captain was referred to the book-keeper, and that official called 
him within the railing. 

“ No less than four checks were brought here yesterday for pay- 
ment, and they came between half-past two and three o’clock in the 
afternoon,” was the book-keeper’s report. “ There seemed to us some- 
thing wrong in the simultaneous presentation of the four, and I was 
on the point of addressing a note to you this morning to ask you to 
come down to the bank. Everything about it appears in proper 
shape and form, except that three of the checks have been endorsed 
payable to your clerk, William Taintor, who came in person and drew 
the money.” 

“ Let me see the checks, if you please,” said the captain. 

They were speedily produced. Lane took them to the window and 
closely examined them. 

“ I could not tell them,” he said, “ from my own handwriting ; 
and yet those three checks are forgeries. I believe that the endorse- 
ments on the back are equally forgeries. Now, can I take these with 
me to the office of the Chief of Police? or do you desire that the 
detectives should be sent here? Taintor deserted last night, and all 
traces have been lost. What is the amount that he has drawn ?” 

“ One check, payable to the order of William Hayden for board 
furnished to the recruiting-party, is to the amount of forty-five dollars 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


31 


and fifty cents. The second, payable to James Freeman, and endorsed 
by him to William Taintor, as was the first, is for rent of the building 
occupied by the recruiting rendezvous, precisely similar in form and 
amount to the previous checks, for the sum of sixty dollars. The 
third check is payable to William Taintor himself, marked ‘ for extra- 
d uty pay as clerk at the recruiting office for the past six months.’ The 
fourth is made payable to the order of Sergeant James Burns, 1 extra- 
d uty pay as non-commissioned officer in charge of the party for the six 
months beginning January 1 and ending June 30/ ” 

This check, too, had been endorsed payable to the order of William 
Taintor. All four checks, amounting in all to the sum of about one 
hundred and sixty dollars, had been paid to the deserting clerk during 
the afternoon of the previous day. 

“ Had you no suspicion of anything wrong ?” said Lane. 

“ I knew nothing about it,” said the book-keeper. “ They were 
presented to the paying teller at the desk, and it was not until after 
bank was closed, when we came to balance up cash, that the matter 
excited comment and then suspicion. Taintor has frequently come here 
before with drafts and checks ; and if you remember, sir, on one or two 
occasions he has been sent for new check-books when the old ones had 
run out.” 

“ That’s very true,” said Lane. “ He has been employed here in 
this rendezvous for the last ten years, and has borne, up to within my 
knowledge of him, an unimpeachable character. If any more checks 
come in, stop payment on them until you see me, and, if possible, 
detain the person who presents them.” 

Half an hour afterwards the captain was back in his office, and there 
true to his appointment, was Lieutenant Noel. 

“ I have had a strange and unpleasant experience, Noel,” said Lane. 
“ Most of my papers have been faultily made out. My clerk deserted 
last night and has turned out to be a most expert forger. He has 
stolen half a dozen checks from my book, made them out to the order 
of various parties, forged the endorsements himself, got the money 
yesterday afternoon, and cleared out, no one knows where.” 

“ Great Scott, old man ! that is hard luck ! How much has he let 
you in for ?” asked Noel, in the slang of the period. 

“ Only a hundred and sixty dollars, fortunately ; and I have made 
that good this morning, — placed my own check to the credit of the 
recruiting- fund in the First National Bank, so that in turning ov er the 


32 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


funds to you there will be no loss. We have to make new papers foi 
the clothing account ; but as quickly as possible I will have them ready 
for your signature and mine.” 

“ There is no hurry whatever, old fellow,” answered Noel, cheerily. 
u I’ve come back from the regiment a little short of money, and I want 
to have a nest-egg in the bank to begin with. It’s a good thing to have 
a fat cousin, isn’t it? He has always been very liberal and kind to 
me, and, luckily, I’ve only drawn on him twice. So I’ll hurry along.” 

Five minutes after Noel left, a district messenger entered with a 
note for Captain Lane. It was addressed to him in the handwriting 
of Mr. Vincent. He opened it with a trembling hand. It contained 
merely these words : 

“ I am obliged to leave for New York this afternoon. Can you 
come to my office at one o’clock? We can then talk without interrup- 
tion ; and I much desire to see you. 

« T. L. V.” 

As the big bell on the city hall had struck one, Captain Lane ap- 
peared at the office of Vincent, Clark & Co., and was shown without 
delay into the private room of the senior partner. Mr. Vincent, look- 
ing even older and grayer in the wan light at the rear of the massive 
building, was seated at his desk and busily occupied with a book of 
memoranda and figures. He pushed back his chair and came for- 
ward at once at sight of Lane, and motioned to the clerk to retire. The 
cavalryman’s heart was beating harder then he had any recollection of 
its ever doing before, except in her presence, and he felt that his knees 
were trembling. But the old gentleman’s greeting gave him instant 
hope : 

“ I am glad you have come, my dear sir : I am glad to know a 
man who has been taught as I was taught. Young people nowadays 
seem to rush into matrimony without the faintest reference to their 
parents, and your letter was a surprise to me, — a surprise, that is, in 
the fact that you should have sought my permission at all. 

“ Take this chair, captain,” he continued, as he returned to his desk. 
u I have much to say to you,” he added, with a sigh. “ Let me say 
at once that from what I know and have heard of you there is no man 
of my acquaintance to whom I could intrust my daughter’s future with 
more implicit confidence. It is true that both her mother and I had at 


TWO SOLDIERS, 


33 


one time other hopes and views for her, and that we wish your profes- 
sion was not that of arms. And now I beg you to be patient with me, 
and to pardon my alluding to matters which you yourself broach in this 
— this most manful letter. You tell me that you are not dependent on 
your pay alone, but that from investments in real estate in growing 
cities in the West and in mines in New Mexico your present income 
is some five thousand dollars. As I understand you, the property is 
steadily increasing in value ?” 

“ It has steadily increased thus far, sir, and I think it will continue 
to do so for several years to come, — in the real estate investments at 
least.” 

“ I am glad of this, on your account as well as hers, for Mabel has 
been reared in comparative luxury. She has never known what it was 
to want anything very much or very long. She has been educated 
on the supposition that her whole life would be one equally free from 
care or stint; and if I were to die to-morrow, sir, she would be a 
beggar.” 

And here, in great agitation, the old gentleman rose from his chair 
and began nervously pacing up and down the little room, wringing his 
white, tremulous hands, and turning his face away from the silent 
soldier, that he might not see the tears that hung to the lashes, or the 
piteous quivering of the sensitive lips. For a moment or two nothing 
more was said. Then, as though in surprise, Mr. Vincent stopped short. 

“Did you understand me, Captain Lane? I do not exaggerate 
the situation in the least. I do not know how soon the axe will fall. 
We are safe for to-day, but know not what the morrow may bring forth. 
I may be met en route by telegrams saying that the journey is useless, — 
that we are ruined, — and the money I hope to get in New York to tide 
us over would come only too late. Next month at this time the house 
in which Mabel was born and reared may be sold over her head, with 
every scrap and atom of its furniture, and we be driven into exile. 
Do you realize this, sir ? Do you understand that if you win her affec- 
tion and she become your wife I have not a penny with which to bless 
her?” 

“ Mr. Vincent,” answered Lane, “ I would hold myself richer than 
any man in this world if I could know that your daughter cared for me 
and would be my wife. Do not think that I fail to sympathize and 
feel for you and all who are dear to you in your distress and anxiety, 
but I am almost glad to hear that she is not the heiress people said 
B* 


34 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


she was. It is Mabel I want,” — and here his voice trembled almost as 
much as the old man’s, and his honest gray eyes filled up with tears 
he could not down, — “and with her for my own I could ask nothing 
of any man. I have your consent to see her, then, at once if need be ? 
You know I am relieved from duty here and must rejoin my regiment 
within ten days.” 

“ My full consent, and my best wishes, captain,” said Mr. Vincent, 
grasping the outstretched hand in both his own. “You have not 
spoken to her at all ?” 

“ Not a word, Mr. Vincent ; and I can form no idea what her 
answer will be. Pardon me, sir, but has she or has Mrs. Vincent any 
knowledge of your business troubles ?” 

“ My wife knows, of course, that everything is going wrong and 
that I am desperately harassed ; Mabel, too, knows that I have lost 
much money — very much — in the last two years ; but neither of them 
knows the real truth, — that even my life-insurance is gone. A year 
ago I strove to obtain additional amounts in the three companies in 
which I had taken out policies years ago. Of course a rigid examina- 
tion had to be made by the medical advisers, and the result was the 
total rejection of my applications, and in two cases an offer to return 
with interest all the premiums hitherto paid. The physicians had all 
discovered serious trouble with my heart. Last winter our business 
was at its lowest ebb. I had been fortunate in some speculations on 
’Change in the past, and I strove to restore our failing fortunes in that 
way. My margins were swept away like chaff, and I have been vainly 
striving to regain them for the last three months, until now the last 
cent that I could raise is waiting the result of this week’s deal. Every 
man in all the great markets East and West knew three weeks ago that 
a powerful and wealthy syndicate had i cornered,’ as we say, all the 
wheat to be had, and was forcing the price up day by day; and I 
had started in on the wrong side. Even if the corner were to break 
to-morrow I could not recover half my losses. The offer the insurance 
companies made was eagerly accepted, sir : I took their money, and it 
dribbled away through my broker’s fingers. If wheat goes up one 
cent, we cannot meet our obligations, — we are gone. We have been 
compelled to borrow at ruinous rates in order to meet our calls : I say 
we, for poor Clark is with me in the deal, and it means ruin for him 
too, though he, luckily, has neither wife nor child. Are you ready, 
sir, to ally your name with that of a ruined and broken man, — to 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


35 


wed a beggar’s daughter?” And here poor old Vincent fairly broke 
down and sobbed aloud. Long watching, sleepless nights, suspense, 
wretched anxiety, the averted Iookh and whispered comments of the 
men .he daily met on ’Change, the increasing brusqueness and insolence 
of his broker, Warden, — all had combined to humiliate and crush him. 
He threw himself upon the sofa, his worn old frame shaking and 
quivering with grief. The sight was too much for Lane. This was 
her father : it was her home that was threatened, her name that was 
in jeopardy. 

“ Mr. Vincent,” he cried, almost imploringly, “ I cannot tell you 
how utterly my sympathy is with you in your anxiety and distress. I 
beg you not to give way, — not to abandon hope. I — I think it may 
be in my power to help a little ; only — it must be a secret between us. 
She — Mabel must never know.” 


VL 

In the three days that followed, the transfer of funds and property 
at the recruiting rendezvous took place, and Mr. Noel stepped in, vice 
Lane, relieved and ordered to join his regiment. The former was 
having a delightful time. A guest of the wealthy Witherses could not 
long be a stranger within their gates to the Queen citizens, and every 
afternoon and evening found him enjoying hospitalities of the most cor- 
dial character. At the club he had already become hail-fellow with all 
the younger element and had made himself decidedly popular among 
the elders, and every man who had not met that jolly Captain Noel was 
eager to be presented to him. He was ready for pool, billiards, bowl- 
ing, or a drink the moment he got within the stately door-way ; and, 
as he sang, whistled, laughed, chatted, and cracked innumerable jokes 
during the various games, was a capital mimic, and could personate Pat, 
Hans, or Crapaud with telling effect, his presence was pronounced by 
every one as better than a solid week of sunshine, — something the 
Queen City rarely, if ever, experienced. 

Poor Lane, on the contrary, was nearly worrying his heart out. 
He had gone to the Vincents’ the very evening on which he had seen 
the father of the family off for New York, and had nerved himself to 
put his fortune to the test, — to tell her of his deep and devoted love 
and to ask her to be his wife. That she well knew he loved her, with- 
out being told, he felt sure must be the case ; but, beyond a belief that 
she liked and trusted him, f he captain had not the faintest idea as to 


36 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the nature of her feelings towards him. He was a modest fellow, as 
has been said. His glass told him that, despite a pair of clear gray 
eyes and a decidedly soldierly cut to his features, he was not what 
women called a handsome man ; and, what was more, there were little 
strands of gray just beginning to show about his broad forehead and 
in the heavy moustache that shaded his mouth. Lane sighed as he 
remembered that he was in his thirty-sixth year. How could she care 
for him, — fifteen years her senior ? Lane rang the door-bell that night 
and felt once more that his heart was beating even as it did at one 
o’clock when he was ushered into the awful presence of her father. 

“ Miss Vincent has not left her room to-day, and is not well enough 
to come down to-night, sir,” said the servant who came to the door, 
“ and Mrs. Vincent begged to be excused because of Miss Mabel’s 
needing her.” 

“ I — I am very, very sorry,” stammered the captain. “ Please say 
that Mr. Lane called” (they had known him so well for two months 
as Mr. Lane that he could not yet refer to himself by his new title), 
“ and — and would call again to-morrow, hoping to hear Miss Vincent 
was much better.” 

And then, dejected and miserable, and yet with something akin to 
the feeling one experiences when going to a dentist’s to have a tooth 
drawn and the dreaded wielder of the forceps proves to be away, Lane 
retreated down the broad stone steps until he reached the walk, gazed 
up at the dim light in the window which he thought might be hers, 
anathematized himself for his lack of self-possession in not having asked 
whether there wasn’t something he could bring her, — something she 
would like, — for the simple-hearted fellow would have tramped all 
night all over town to find and fetch it, — and thep a happy thought 
occurred to him : “ Women always love flowers.” He ran to the next 
street, boarded a west-bound car, and was soon far down town at his 
favorite florist’s. 

“ Give me a big box of cut flowers, — the handsomest you have,” 
he said ; and while they, were being prepared he wrote a few lines on 
a card, tore it up, tried again on another, and similarly reduced that 
to fragments, and finally, though far from content, limited the expression 
of his emotions to the simple words, — 

“Do get well by Saturday at latest. I cannot go without seeing 

F, L.” 


you. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


37 


u Where shall we send them, sir ?” asked the florist, as he came 
forward with the box in his hand. 

“ Never mind : I’ll take it myself,” was the answer, as the captain 
popped in the little missive. 

And when he got back to the house the light was still burning in 
the window in the second story, and the doctor had just left, said the 
sympathetic Abigail, and had said that it was nothing serious or alarm- 
ing : Miss Mabel would have to keep quiet a day or two ; that was all. * 

But what hard luck for poor Lane, when the days of his stay were 
so very few ! All Thursday morning was spent at the rendezvous, 
counting over property and comparing papers with Noel. Then, while 
that gentleman went to the club for luncheon the captain hastened to 
the Vincents’ door to renew inquiries, and was measurably comforted 
by the news that Miss Mabel was much better, though still confined to 
her room. Would he not come in? Mrs. Vincent was out, but she 
thought — did that most intelligent young woman, Mary Ann — that 
perhaps there was a message for him. Like Mr. Toots, poor Lane, in 
nis anxiety to put no one to any trouble, came within an ace of stam- 
mering, “ It’s of no consequence,” but checked himself in time, and 
stepped into the bright parlor in which he had spent so many delicious 
hours listening to her soft rich voice as she sang, or as she chatted 
blithely with him and her frequent guests. It was some time before 
Mary Ann returned. Evidently, there was a message, for the girl’s 
fa^e was dimpled with smiles as she handed him a little note. “ Miss 
Mabel says please excuse pencil, sir ; she had to write lying down. 
Miss Holton has just gone away, after spending most of the morning.” 

Excuse pencil ! Lane could hardly wait to read the precious lines. 
How he longed to give the girl a five-dollar bill ! but this wasn’t 
England, and he did not know how Mary Ann would regard such a 
proffer. She promptly and discreetly retired, leaving the front door 
open for his exit, and the sweet June sunshine and the soft warm 
breath of early summer flowing in through the broad vestibule. 

“ How good you are to me !” she wrote. “ The flowers were — and 
are still — exquisite. I shall be down-stairs a little while to-morrow 
afternoon, if the doctor is good to me as you are. Then I can thank 
you, can I not ? M. L. V.” 

The hours dragged until Friday afternoon came. He had to go to 

4 


33 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the Witherses’ to dinner on Thursday evening, and a dreary, ostenta- 
tious, ponderous feast it was. Noel, in his full-dress uniform, was th€ 
hero of the hour. He greeted Lane a trifle nervously. 

“ I meant to have telephoned and begged you to bear me out, old 
man,” said he, “ but this thing was sprung on me after I got home. 
Cousin Mattie simply ordered me to appear in my war-paint, and I had 
to do it. You are to go in to dinner with her, by the way ; and I wish 
you were en grande tenue instead of civilian spike-tail. Here’s Amos.” 

And Amos marched him around to one guest after another, — “ self 
made men, sir,” — heavy manufacturers and money-makers, with their 
overdressed wives. Lane strove hard to be entertaining to his hostess, 
but that lady’s mind was totally engrossed in the progress of the 
feast and dread of possible catastrophe to style or service. Her eyes 
glanced nervously from her husband to the butler and his assistants, 
and her lips perpetually framed inaudible instructions or warnings, 
and so it happened that the captain was enabled to chat a good deal 
with a slight, dark-eyed, and decidedly intelligent girl who sat to his 
right and who was totally ignored by the young cub who took her in, 
— the eldest son of the house of Withers, a callow youth of twenty. 

“ You did not hear my name, I know,” she had said to him. “ I am 
Miss Marshall, a very distant connection of Mrs. Withers’s, the teacher 
of her younger children, and the merest kind of an accident at this 
table. Miss Faulkner was compelled to send her excuses at the last 
moment, and so I was detailed — isn’t that your soldier expression ? — - 
to fill the gap.” 

“And where did you learn our army expressions, may I ask?” 
said Lane, smilingly. 

“ I had a cousin in the artillery some years ago, and visited his 
wife when they were stationed at the old barracks across the river. 
There’s no one there now, I believe. Listen to Captain Noel : he is 
telling about Indian campaigns.” 

Indeed, pretty much everybody was listening already, for Noel, with 
much animation, was recounting the experiences of the chase after the 
Chiricahua chieftain Geronimo. He was an excellent talker, and most 
diplomatic and skilful in the avoidance of any direct reference to him- 
self as the hero of the series of dramatic incidents which he so graphically 
told, and yet the impression conveyed — and intended to be conveyed — 
was that no man had seen more, endured mor , or ridden harder, faster, 
and farther, than the narrator. Flattered by the evident interest shown 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


39 


by those about him, and noting that conversation was brisk at Lane’s 
end of the table, the lieutenant soon lost himself in the enthusiasm of 
his own descriptions, and was only suddenly recalled to earth by noting 
that now the whole table had ceased its dinner-chat, and that, with the 
possible exception of the hostess, who was telegraphing signals to the 
butler, every man and woman present was looking at him and listening. 
The color leaped to his face, and he turned towards Lane with a 
nervous laugh. 

“ I’d no idea I was monopolizing the talk,” he said. “ Fred, old 
man, wasn’t it G Troop that tried to get across the range from your 
command to ours when we neared the Guadalupe ? Amos and Mr. 
Hawks had been asking me about the chase after Geronimo.” 

“ Yes ; it was G Troop, — Captain Greene’s,” answered Lane. 

" You know that Captain Lane and I are of the same regiment, 
and, though not actually together in the chase, we were in the same 
campaign,” said Noel, apologetically, and then, quickly changing the 
subject, “ By the way, Mr. Hawks, is Harry Hawks of the artillery 
a relative of yours ?” 

“ A nephew, captain, — my brother Henry’s son. Did you know 
him ?” 

“ Know him ? Why, he is one of the warmest friends I have in 
the whole army, — outside of my own regiment, that is. We were con- 
stantly together one winter when I was on staff duty in Washington, 
and whenever he could get leave to run up from the barracks he made 
my quarters his home. If you ever write to him just ask him if he 
knows Gordon Noel.” 

“ Do you know, Captain Lane, that I have found your comrade 
captain a very interesting man ?” observed Miss Marshall ; and her 
eyes turned upon her next-door neighbor in calm but keen scrutiny. 

“ Noel is very entertaining,” was the reply ; and the dark-gray eyes 
looked unflinchingly into the challenge of the dark-brown. 

“ Yes, I have listened to his tales of the frontier, at breakfast, 
dinner, and during the evening hours, since Sunday last. They are 
full of vivacity and variety.” 

“ One sees a good deal of strange country and many strange people 
in the course of ten or a dozen years’ service in the cavalry.” 

u And must needs have a good memory to be able to tell of it all, — 
especially when one recounts the same incident more than once.” And 


40 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Miss Marshall's lips were twitching at the corners in a manner sug- 
gestive of mischief and merriment combined. 

Lane is paused for a reply." Here was evidently a most observant 
young woman. 

“ There ! I did not mean to tax your loyalty to a regimental com- 
rade, captain : so you need not answer. Captain Noel interests and 
entertains me principally because of his intense individuality and his 
entire conviction that he carries his listeners with him. ‘ Age cannot 
wither nor custom stale his infinite variety ;’ but there should not be 
quite so much variety in his descriptions of a single event. This is 
the fourth time I have heard him tell of the night-ride from Carrizo’s 
Ranch to Cafion Diablo." 

“ You have the advantage of me, Miss Marshall," answered Lane, 
his eyes twinkling with appreciation of her demure but droll exposure 
of Noel’s weak point. “ It is the first time I ever heard his version 
of it." 

“ It is the last time he will mention it in your presence, if he saw 
the expression in your face, Captain Lane." 

“ Do those introspective eyes of yours look clear through and see 
out of the back of your head, Miss Marshall ? Your face was turned 
towards him. You stopped short in telling me of your cousin in the 
artillery and your visit to the barracks, and bade me listen to some- 
thing I did not care half as much to hear as your own impressions of 
garrison-life. Never mind the quadruplex account of the night-ride. 
Tell me what you thought of the army." 

“ Well, of course the first thing a girl wants to know is what the 
shoulder-straps mean ; and I learned the very first day that the blank 
strap meant a second lieutenant, a single silver bar a first lieutenant, 
and two bars a captain, — that is, in the artillery. Now, why this pro- 
voking distinction in the cavalry ? Here’s a captain with only one bar, 
a captain whose letters from the War Department come addressed to 
Lieutenant Gordon Noel !’’ 

“ Noel never speaks of himself as captain, I’m sure," said Lane. 

“ Neither do you ; and for a year past, ever since I have known 
you by sight," — and here a quick blush mounted to her temples, — “ you 
occasionally came to our church, you know," she hastened to explain, — 
“ you have been referred to as Lieutenant Lane or Mr. Lane ; but we 
know you are a captain now, for we saw the promotion recorded in the 
Washington despatches a fortnight ago. What was the date of Captain 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


41 


Noel's elevation to that grade ? I confess I took him for your junior 
in the service and in years too." 

“ Yes, Noel holds well on to his youth,” answered Lane, sm ilin gly, 

“ And about the captaincy ?” 

“Well, he is so very near it, and it is so apt to come any day, that 
perhaps he thinks it just as well to let people get accustomed to calling 
him that. Then he won't have to break them all in when the com- 
mission does come.” 

“ Then he is your junior, of course ?” 

“ Only by a file or so. He entered service very soon after me.” 

“ But was not in your class at West Point?” 

“ No : he was not in my class.” 

“In the next one, then, I presume ?” 

“ Miss Marshall, is your first name Portia ? I should hate to be a 
witness whom you had the privilege of cross-examining. There are 
ladies ‘ learned in the law,' and I expect to read of you as called to the 
bar within a year or two.” 

“ Never mind, Captain Lane. I will ask you nothing more about 
him.” 

“ No, Miss Marshall, I presume that my clumsiness has rendered 
it totally unnecessary.” 

That night, as the guests were dispersing, Lane did what most 
of them entirely omitted: he went over to the piano and bade Miss 
Marshall good-night. 

“ Captain Lane,” she said, “ I beg your pardon if I have been too 
inquisitive and too critical, as I know I have been ; but you have 
taught me that you know how to guard a comrade's failings from the 
world. Will you not forgive a woman's weakness ?” 

“ There is nothing to forgive, Miss Marshall. I hope sincerely 
that we may meet again before I go back to the regiment.” 

And later, as Lane was walking homeward from a final peep at the 
dim light ir a certain window, he had time to think how intolerable 
that dinner would have seemed had it not been for the accident which 
placed that dark-eyed governess by his side. 


VII. 

Lane was awake with the sun on Friday morning, and lay for a 
few moments listening to the twittering of the sparrows about his 

4 * 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


42 


window-sills, and watching the slanting, rosy-red shafts of light that 
streamed through the intervals in the Venetian blinds. “ Does it augur 
bright fortune? Does it mean victory? Is it like the ‘sun of Aus- 
terlitz’ ?” were the questions that crowded through his brain. To-day — 
to-day she was to “ be down for a little while in the afternoon,” and 
then she “ hoped to be able to thank him. Could she ?” Ten thou- 
sand times over and over again she could, if she would but whisper one 
little word — Yes — in answer to his eager question. It lacked hours 
yet until that longed-for afternoon could come. It was not five o’clock ; 
but more sleep was out of the question, and lying there in bed intoler- 
able. Much to the surprise of his darky valet, Lane had had his bath, 
dressed, and disappeared by the time the former came to rouse him. 

Noel was late in reaching the rendezvous. It was after ten when 
he appeared, explaining that Mrs. Withers was far from well, and 
therefore Cousin Amos would not leave the house until the doctor had 
seen her and made his report. Lane received his explanation some- 
what coldly, and suggested that they go right to work with their 
papers, as he had important engagements. It was high noon when 
they finished the matters in hand, and then the captain hastened to the 
club, and was handed a telegram with the information that it had only 
just come. It was evidently expected. Lane quickly read it and care- 
fully stowed it away in an inside pocket. In another moment he was 
speeding down town, and by half-past twelve was closeted with the 
junior partner of the tottering house of Vincent, Clark & Co. Mr. 
Clark was pale and nervous ; every click of the “ ticker’ 7 seemed to 
make him start. A clerk stood at the instrument, watching the rapidly- 
dotted quotations. 

“ Have you heard from Mr. Vincent ?” was the first question ; and, 
without a word, a telegram was handed him. It was in cipher, as he 
saw at once, and Clark supplied the transcription : 

“ Rossiter refuses. Watch market closely. See Warden instant 
touches half. Break predicted here.” 

" Twenty minutes more !” groaned Clark, as he buried his face in 
his hands. “ Twenty minutes more of this awful suspense !” 

“ What was the last report ?” asked Lane, in a low voice. 

“ Ninety-eight and a quarter. My God ! Think of it ! Three- 
quarters of a cent between us and beggary ! I could bear it, but no/ 
Vincent : ’twould kill him. Even his home is mortgaged.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


43 


There eame a quick, sharp tap at the glazed door : the clerk’s head 
was thrust in : 

“ Three-eighths, sir.” 

u It’s time to move, then,” said Lane. “ I cannot follow you to 
the floor, — I have no ticket ; but I will be awaiting your call at the 

Merchants’ Exchange. Mr. Vincent has told you Better have it 

in Treasury notes, — one hundred each, — had you not ?” 

w I'll see W arden at once. D — n him ! he would sell us out with 
no more compunctions than he would shoot a hawk.” 

“ You infer that Mr. Vincent has had no success in raising money 
in New York ?” asked Lane, as they hurried from the office. 

“ Not an atom ! He made old Rossiter what he is, — hauled him 
out of the depths, set him on his feet, took him in here with him for 
ten years, sent him East with a fortune that he has trebled since in 
Wall Street, and now, by heaven ! the cold-blooded brute will not lend 
him a pitiful twenty thousand.” 

At the bank Lane found an unusual number of men, and there 
was an air of suppressed excitement. Telegraph-boys would rush in 
every now and then with despatches for various parties, and these were 
eagerly opened and read. Scraps of low, earnest conversation reached 
him as he stood, a silent watcher. “ They cannot stand it another day.” 
“ They’ve been raining wheat on them from every corner of the North 
and West. No gang can stand up under it.” “ It’s bound to break,” 
etc. To an official of the bank who knew him well he showed the 
telegram he had received at the club, and the gentleman looked up in 
surprise : 

“ Do you want this now, captain ? Surely you are not ” 

“ No, I’m not, most emphatically,” replied Lane, with a quiet 
laugh. “ Yet I may have sudden use for that sum. I telegraphed to 
my agents at Cheyenne yesterday. You, perhaps, ought to wire at 
once and verify it.” 

“ Those are our bank rules, and I presume it will be done ; though 
of course we know ” 

“ Never mind. I much prefer you should, and at once.” And, 
leaving the man of business to attend to the necessary formality, Lane 
strolled to a window and looked down the crowded street towards the 
massive building in which the desperate grapple ’twixt bull and bear 
was at its height. The day was hot ; men rushed by, mopping their 
levered brows ; a throng of people had gathered near the broad en- 


44 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


trance to the Chamber, and all its windows were lowered to secure free 
and fresh currents of air. Lane fancied he could hear the shouts of 
the combatants in the pit even above the ceaseless roar and rattle of 
wheels upon the stone pavement. Little by little the minute-hand was 
stealing to the vertical, and still no sign from Clark. “ Has she touched 
a half yet ?” he heard one man eagerly ask another as they dived into 
the brokers office underneath. 

“Not yet; but I’m betting she does inside of five minutes and 
reaches ninety-nine first thing to-morrow.” 

At last, boom went the great bell, — a single, solemn stroke. 
There was a rush of men for the street, a general scurry towards the 
great Board of Trade building, a rapidly-increasing crowd along the 
curb- stones as the members came pouring out, and brokers and their 
customers hurried away towards numberless little offices all over the 
neighborhood. Dozens of them passed along under his post of obser- 
vation, some flushed, some deathly pale, and finally Clark himself ap- 
peared, and Lane hastened forth to meet him. 

“ Saved by a mere squeak so far,” was the almost breathless whisper 
as Clark removed his hat and wiped his clammy forehead. “ But we 
know not what a day may bring forth. It’s a mere respite.” 

“ Can the syndicate carry any more weight, think you ? Prices 
jumped up two and three weeks ago. Now they only climb a hair's- 
breadth at a time. I hear they are loaded down, — that it must break ; 
but I'm no expert in these matters.” 

“If you were, you'd be wise to keep out of it. Who can say 
whether they will break or not? It is what everybody confidently 
predicted when eighty-nine was touched twelve days ago; and look 
at it !” 

“ Do you go back to the office from here ? Good ! I'll join you 
there in ten minutes,” said Lane, “ for I shall not come down town this 
afternoon, and may not be able to in the morning.” 

And when Captain Lane appeared at the office of Vincent, Clark 
& Co. he brought with him a stout little packet, which, after the ex- 
change of a few words and a scrap or two of paper, Mr. Clark care- 
fully stowed in the innermost compartment of the big safe. Then he 
grasped Lane's hand in both of his, as the captain said good-by. 

That afternoon, quite late, the captain rang at the Vincents' door, 
and it was almost instantly opened by the smiling Abigail whom he so 
longed to reward for her evident sympathy the day before, yet lacked 
the courage to proffer a greenback. Lane was indeed little versed in 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


45 

the ways of the world, howsoever well he might be informed in his 
profession. 

“ Miss Vincent is in the library, sir, if you will please to walk that 
way,” was her brief communication ; and the captain, trembling de- 
spite his best efforts to control himself, stepped past her into the broad 
hall, and there, hurrying down the stairway, came Mrs. Vincent, evi- 
dently to meet him. Silently she held forth her hand and led him into 
the parlor, and then he saw that her face was very sad and pale and 
that her eyes were red with weeping. 

“ I will only detain you a moment, captain,” she murmured, “ but 
I felt that I must see you. Mr. Vincent wrote to me on the train as 
he left here, and he tells me you know — the worst.” 

“ Mr. Vincent has honored me with his confidence, dear lady; and 
I — saw Mr. Clark to-day.” 

She looked up eagerly: “What news had he from New York? 
Did he tell you ? — about Mr. Rossiter, that is ? I knew perfectly well 
what Mr. Vincent’s hopes and expectations were in going.” 

“ There was a telegram. I fear that he was disappointed in Mr. 
Rossiter ; but the money was not needed up to the closing of the board 
at one o’clock.” 

“ I am not disappointed. I thank God that the Rossiters refused 
him money. It will open his eyes to their real characters, — father and 
son. I would rather go and live in a hovel than be under obligations 
to either of them.” And now the tears were raining down her 
cheeks. 

“ Do not grieve so, Mrs. Vincent,” said Lane. “ I cannot believe 
the danger is so great. I have listened to the opinions of the strongest 
men on ’Change this afternoon. A i break’ in this corner was pre- 
dicted in New York at eleven this morning, and that is the universal 
opinion among the best men now.” 

“ Yes, but it may be days away yet, and Mr. Vincent has con- 
fessed to me that his whole fortune hangs by a single hair, — that this 
wretched speculation has swallowed everything, — that a rise of a single 
penny means beggary to us, for he can no longer answer his broker’s 
calls.” 

“ That may have been so when he wrote ; but Mr. Clark seems to 
have had a little better luck locally. I infer from what he told me 
that they were safe for to-day and could meet the raise of that critical 
cent or two : so that, despite the great loss they have sustained, there 


46 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


is not the certainty of ruin that so overwhelmed Mr. Vincent on 
Wednesday.” 

“ You give me hope and courage,” cried the poor, anxious-hearted 
woman, as she seized and pressed his hand. “ And — and you come 
to us in the midst of our troubles ! Mr. Vincent was so touched by 
your writing first to him : it brought back old days, old times, old 
fashions, that he loved to recall, — days when he, too, was young and 
brave and full of hope and cheer.” 

“ And I have your good wishes, too, Mrs. Vincent ? — even though I 
am only a soldier and have so little to offer her beyond — beyond ” 

But he could not finish. He had looked into her face with such 
eager hope and delight when he began, yet broke down helplessly when 
he tried to speak of his great love for her sweet daughter. 

“ I know what you would say,” she answered, with quick and 
ready sympathy. “ I have seen how dear my child has been to you 
almost from the very first. Indeed I do wish you happiness, Mr. 
Lane ; but Mr. Vincent told you that — we once had other views for 
Mabel. It is only fair and right that you should know.” 

“ How could it have been otherwise, Mrs. Vincent ? Is there any 
man quite worthy of her ? Is there any station in life too high for 
one like her ? I never dared hope that your consent could have been 
so freely given. I do not dare hope that she can possibly care for me 
— yet.” 

“ I will not keep you longer, then,” said she, smiling through her 
tears. “ I shall see you after a while, perhaps. Mabel is in the 
library. Now I’ll leave you.” 

With tumultuously-throbbing heart, he softly entered and quickly 
glanced around. The tiers of almost priceless volumes, the antique 
furniture, the costly Persian rugs and portieres, the pictures, bronzes, 
bric-a-brac, — all were valueless in his eager eyes. They sought one 
object alone, and found it in a deep bay-window across the room. 
There, leaning back in a great easy reading-chair, with a magazine in 
her lap, her fair head pillowed on a silken cushion, reclined the lady 
of his heart, smiling a sweet welcome to him, while the rosy color 
mounted to her brows as he came quickly forward and took her soft, 
white hand. How he was trembling ! How his kind gray eyes were 
glowing ! She could not meet them : she had to look away. She had 
begun some pleasant little welcoming speech, some half-laughing allu- 
sion to the flowers, but she stopped short in the midst of it. A knot 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


47 


of half-faded roses — his roses — nestled in her bosom, contrasting with 
the pure white of her dainty gown ; and now those treasured, envied 
flowers began to rise and fall, as though rocked on the billows of some 
clear lake stirred by sudden breeze. What he said, he did not know : 
she hardly heard, tnough her ears drank in every word. She only 
realized that both his hands were tightly clasping hers, and that, scorn- 
ing to seek a chair and draw it to her side, — perhaps, too, because he 
could not bear to release even for an instant that slender little hand, 
— perhaps still more because of the old-time chivalry in his nature that 
had prompted him to ask parental sanction before telling her of his 
deep and tender love, — Captain Lane had dropped on one knee close 
beside, and, bending over her, was pouring forth in broken, incoherent 
words the old, old story of a lover’s hopes and fears and longings, — 
the sweet old song that, day after day, year after year, ay, though sung 
since God’s creation of the beautiful world we live in, never, never can 
be heard or sung except in rapture. Even though she be cold to him 
as stone, no true woman ever listened to the tale of a man’s true love 
without a thrill at heart. Once, once only, in the lifetime of men like 
Lane — yes, and of men not half his peers in depth of character, in 
intensity of feeling— -there comes a moment like this, and, whether it 
be in the glow and fervor and enthusiasm of youth or the intensity 
and strength of maturer years, it is the climax of a lifetime ; it is the 
date from which all others, all scenes, trials, triumphs, take their due 
apportionment ; it is the memory of all others that lingers to the very 
last, when all, all but this are banished from the dying brain. Kome, 
in her pride of place, made the building of her Capitol the climax of 
mundane history : everything in her calendar was “ ante urbem conditam ” 
or the reverse. The old world measured from the Flood ; the new world 
— our world — measures from the birth of Him who died upon the 
cross ; and the lifetime of the man who has once deeply and devotedly 
loved has found its climax in the thrilling moment of the avowal. 

“ Have you no word to say to me, Mabel ? — not one word of hope ? 
— not one?” he pleaded. 

Then she turned her lovely face, looking into his deep eyes through 
a mist of tears. 

“ I do like you,” she murmured ; “ I do honor you so, Captain 
Lane ; but that is not what you deserve. There is no one, believe me, 

. whom I so regard and esteem ; but — I do not know 1 am not certain 

of myself.” 


18 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


“Let me try to win your love, Mabel. Give me just that right. 
Indeed, indeed I have not dared to hope that so soon I could win even 
your trust and esteem. You make me so happy when you admit even 
that.” 

“ It is so little to give, in return for what you have given me,” 
she answered, softly, while her hand still lay firmly held in the clasp 
of his. 

“ Yet it is so much to me. Think, Mabel, in four days at most I 
must go back to my regiment. I ask no pledge or promise. Only let 
me write to you. Only write to me and let me strive to arouse at least 
a little love in your true heart. Then by and by — six months, perhaps, 
— I’ll come again and try my fate. I know that an old dragoon like 
me, with gray hairs sprouting in his moustache ” 

But here she laid her fingers on his lips, and then, seizing both her 
hands, he bowed his head over them and kissed them passionately. 

The day of parting came, all too soon. Duty — the mistress to 
whom he had never hitherto given undivided allegiance — called him to 
the distant West, and the last night of his stay found him bending 
over her in the same old window. He was to take a late train for 
St. Louis, and had said farewell to all but her. And now the mo- 
ment had arrived. A glance at his watch had told him that he had 
but twenty minutes in which to reach the station. 

She had risen, and was standing, a lovely picture of graceful woman- 
hood, her eyes brimming with tears. Both her hands were now clasped 
in his; she could not deny him that at such a time; but — but was 
there not something throbbing in her heart that she longed to tell ? 

“ It is good-by now,” he murmured, his whole soul in his glowing 
eyes, his infinite love betrayed in those lips quivering under the heavy 
moustache. 

She glanced up into his face. 

“ Fred,” — and then, as though abashed at her own boldness, the 
lovely head was bowed again almost on his breast. 

“ What is it, darling ? Tell me,” he whispered, eagerly, a wild, 
wild hope thrilling through his heart. 

“Would it make you happier if — if I — told you that I knew my- 
self a little better ?” 

“ Mabel ! Do you mean — do you care for me ?” 

And then she was suddenly clasped in his strong, yearning arms 
Slid strained to his breast. Long, long afterwards he used to lift that 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


49 


travelling-coat of gray tweeds from the trunk in which it was carefully 
stowed away, and wonder if — if it were indeed true that her throbbing 
heart had thrilled through that senseless fabric, stirring wild joy and 
rapture to the very depths of his own. 

“ Would I be sobbing my heart out,” at last she murmured, “ if 1 
did not love you and could not bear to have you go ?” 


VIII. 

“ What an awfully pretty girl that Miss Vincent is, Amos !” said 
Mr. Noel one morning, as the cousins were quietly breakfasting together 
before going down town. 

“ Pretty ? yes,” said Amos, doubtfully. “ But look here, my boy : 
recollect that you want to think of something more than ‘ pretty’ in 
selecting a wife while you are in here on this detail. Now, Mrs. 
Withers and I have been keeping our eyes open, and our ears too, for 
that matter : the fact is, I always have both eyes and ears open, — 
travel with them that way, sleep with them that way. I would not 
be the man I am in the business world, Noel, if that weren’t the case. 
And, pretty though Miss Vincent may be, she’s not the girl for you to 
waste your time on.” 

“ But why not ?” asked Noel. “They have a magnificent home, 
and everything about it indicates wealth and refinement and culture; 
and there is no denying that she is one of the most attractive girls in 
society in this city : certainly I have seen none whom I have admired 
more.” 

“That is all very true, perhaps,” was the reply; “but her father 
was very badly bitten during that wheat corner last month, and in fact 
he has been losing heavily for the last two years. Warden, who is 
his broker on ’Change, let it leak out in more ways than one; and 
that wife of Warden’s is a regular scandal-monger, — she can’t help 
talking, and everything she manages to extract from him in the way of 
information goes broadcast over the entire city. Of course, when the 
corner broke, as it did, old Vincent managed to pull out of it without 
absolute loss of his homestead and his entire business. But the rally 
came only in the nick of time. I am told that Warden has said that 
if wheat had gone up one cent higher it would have knocked Vincent 
out of time ; he never could have come to again. Gordon Noel, we 
have another plan for you. Wait until Ned Terry’s sister gets back 
C 5 


50 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


from the East ; between her and her brother they have just about as 
much money invested in the best-paying business in this town as any 
people that I can possibly name. She’s a belle; she’s just as pretty as 
Miss Vincent. She isn’t as smart, perhaps, but she is a woman worth 
cultivating. Now, hold your horses. Where did you meet her, by the 
way ?” 

“ I first met her at the Thorntons’ dinner-party. She was there 
with Captain Lane, and some other young people whom I had not 
previously met.” 

“ Oh, yes ; that reminds me. It seems to me I have heard once or 
twice that your friend Lane was very much smitten in that quarter. 
Now, you’d much better let him carry off Miss Vincent, if he can. 
She would suit his modest views of life very well. But I don’t believe 
the girl has a penny to her fortune; at least she certainly won’t if 
Vincent has no more luck in the future than he has had in the last 
year.” 

“ I took her down to dinner,” said Noel, thoughtfully, “ and I re- 
member that she talked a good deal about the army, and asked a great 
many questions about the cavalry. Now that you speak of it, I 
noticed that Lane, who sat on the opposite side of the table, didn’t 
seem to be particularly interested in the lady whom he was escorting, 
although of course he had to be civil and tried to keep up a conversa- 
tion, but every now and then I would catch him looking at us, and par- 
ticularly at her. But she looked so pretty that I didn’t wonder at it.” 

“ When did you next see her ?” said Withers. 

“ Only last night. You know, I was called away almost imme- 
diately after the Thornton affair, and had to go on to New York on 
the court-martial, where I was summoned as a witness, then only got 
back in time for the party last night. That was my second meeting 
with her, and by this time Lane had gone out to join the regiment. 
I didn’t even have a chance to say good-by to him. Do you think, 
really, that he was smitten in that quarter ?” 

“ That’s what I certainly heard,” said Withers ; “ and as soon as 
you get to know young people in society, I venture to say that you 
can readily find out all about it. These girls all know one another’s 
secrets, and are generally pretty ready to tell them. That’s the result 
of my experience.” 

It was evident that Amos Withers’s cousin was not to be neglected 
in the Queen City. Two parties at private houses, a reception at the 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


51 


club, and three dinners were the invitations which he found awaiting 
him at his office. Half an hour was occupied in acknowledging and 
accepting or declining, as happened to be the case, these evidences of 
hospitality ; then, having no especial interest in the morning paper, his 
thoughts again reverted to what Mr. Withers had been telling him about 
Miss Vincent, and the possible relation between her and his regimental 
comrade. He had been very much impressed with her the night be- 
fore. Her beauty was of such a rare and radiant character, she was 
so genial and unaffected in her manner, so bright and winning, with 
such an evident liking for his society, that Mr. Noel had come away 
flattering himself that he had made in this quarter a most favorable 
impression. He had thought of her very much as he went home from 
the party, — of her interested face, as he talked or danced with her; 
and she danced delightfully, and was so good as to say that his step 
perfectly suited hers. He remembered now, too, her remark that it 
was so delightful to dance with army officers, and graduates of the 
Point, they all seemed to feel so thoroughly at home on the floor. 

Noel was not a graduate of the Point by any means ; but he saw 
no reason for disenchanting her on that score. He was quite as good 
as any of the West-Pointers, in his own opinion, and in society was 
very much more at home than many of their number. As a dancer he 
was looked upon in his regiment and throughout the cavalry as one of 
the most accomplished in the whole service. And all this interest and 
all this cordiality he had accepted without hesitation as a tribute to hia 
own superior qualifications and attractiveness. It was therefore with a 
feeling akin to pique that he heard of this possible engagement exist- 
ing between her and Captain Lane. 

In all the Eleventh Cavalry there was no man whom Gordon Noel 
feared and possibly hated more than he did Captain Lane. This arose 
from the fact that Lane as adjutant of the regiment had seen all the 
communications that passed from time to time relative to NoePs absence 
from his command when his services were most needed and when any 
man of spirit would have taken every possible precaution to be with 
it. He knew how silent Lane had always been, and how thorough a 
custodian of regimental secrets he was considered. But all the same 
the mere fact that Lane knew all these circumstances so much to his 
disadvantage, and had seen all his lame and impotent excuses, had made 
him fear him as a possible enemy and hate him simply because he 
stood in awe of him. 


62 


TWO SOLDIELS. 


No one, to watch Noel in society or in the presence of his brothel 
officers, would suppose for a moment that he looked upon Lane with 
other than feelings of the warmest regard and comradeship. It was 
only in his secret thoughts, which he admitted to no soul on earth, that 
Noel realized what his real feelings were towards a man who had never 
done him a wrong, but who had treated him on all occasions, public and 
private, with courtesy and consideration. 

For some reason or other the lieutenant felt restless and dissatisfied 
this morning. The atmosphere of the office was decidedly uncongenial. 
He was a man who rarely read anything, and to whom letter- writing 
was a bore. To be sure, he had little of it to do, for no man in the 
regiment had expressed a desire to hear from him. It was a hot, sultry 
day ; the stylish white flannel suit in which he had arrayed his hand- 
some self was wasting its elegance on the desert air of a bare and empty 
room, instead of being seen in the boudoirs of beauty or the billiard- 
rooms at the club. Business was slack : no recruits were coming in, 
and Mr. Noel could stand it no longer. A ring from his bell summoned 
the sergeant to the room. 

“ There doesn’t seem to be any likelihood of recruits coming in such 
a day as this, sergeant,” said Mr. Noel. “ I’m going up to the club for 
a while ; if anybody should come in, send one of the men up there for 
me ; I’ll return at once.” And with that he took his straw hat and light 
cane and strolled leisurely up the street. His was a figure that many a 
man — and more women — would turn to look at more than once. Tall, 
slim, elegant in build, always dressed in excellent taste, Gordon Noel 
in any community would have been pronounced a remarkably present- 
able man. His face, as has been said, was very fine ; his eyes dark and 
handsome, shaded by deep, thick lashes ; his hair dark and waving ; 
his moustache, dark and drooping, served only to enhance the brilliancy 
of the even white teeth that flashed underneath it in his frequent smiles 
and joyous laughter. One would say, in looking at Nod, that he was 
a man of singularly sunny disposition ; and so he was, and so they found 
him at the club ; and so the loungers there hailed him with jovial shouts 
as he entered ; for, though only a fortnight had elapsed since his arrival, 
and four days of that time he had been absent, giving his testimony 
before the court-martial in New York harbor, he had nevertheless won 
his way into the hearts of all the young fellows around the club, and 
no more popular man than Gordon Noel had ever come within the 
doors of “ The Queen City.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


53 


“ Whai are you going to have, old man ?” was the first question 
asked, and Noel laughingly ordered a sherry-cobbler, saying the day 
was far too hot for anything stronger. 

“ Who’s that I just saw going into the billiard-room?” he asked. 

“That? that’s Regy Vincent. Haven’t you met him yet?” 

“ Regy Vincent,” said Noel. “ Is he the brother of the Miss Vin- 
cent whom I met at the party last night ?” 

“ The very same,” was the reply. “ Mighty bright fellow, too, and 
a very jolly one ; though he has been in hard luck of late.” 

“ How in hard luck ?” asked a quiet-looking man seated in a big 
arm-chair, lowering for a moment the newspaper which he had been 
reading. 

“ Well, through his father’s ill luck on ’Change. You all know, of 
course, that Vincent was nearly busted before that corner went under 
last week.” 

“ I know this,” was the calm reply, “ that while he did stand for a 
few days on the ‘ ragged edge,’ and while it may be that had that corner 
not broken when it did he would have been in sore straits, in some way 
he or his partner, Clark, came to taw with additional funds, and had 
the consummate pluck to put up more at the very moment when it was 
believed that that syndicate was going to have everything their own 
way. So far from being badly bitten by that deal, it’s my belief that 
Vincent, Clark & Co. came out of it with a very pretty penny to the 
good.” 

“ Well, of course, Harris, you must know more about it than I 
do. But you cannot be gladder than I am to hear that Vincent’s 
status is so much better than we supposed. I’m glad on his account, 
I’m glad on Regy’s account, and I’m particularly glad on Miss Mabel’s 
account. And now I’m particularly chuckling over Billy Rossiter’s 
frame of mind when he hears the real truth of this matter. When he 
went after her to Rome last year, and everybody supposed that Vincent 
was worth a million, there’s no doubt in the world that he did his best 
to win her, and that was what he was sent abroad by his father to do. 
But he didn’t win her then, for she strenuously denied any engagement 
when she came back here ; yet it was supposed that if he persevered hia 
chances would be good. Why, he’s not half a bad fellow, only he 
can’t marry so long as he is in his father’s employ and dependent on 
him, unless he marries according to his father’s wishes ; and the old 
mar called him off just as soon as he found out that Vincent was on 

5 * 


54 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the verge of failure. Billy Rossiter has lost any chance that he might 
have had in that quarter ; for she’ll never look at him again.” 

i( Served him right, if that be the case. Any man who hasn’t 
sense enough to stick to a girl who is bright and pretty as Mabel Vin- 
cent, rich or poor, deserves no luck at all in this world. But that 
reminds me, Captain Noel, according to rumor and what the girls say 
in society, — and you know they generally know pretty much every- 
thing that is going on, — there is something more than a mere un- 
derstanding between her and your predecessor here, the recruiting 
officer, Lieutenant Lane. Did he say anything about it to you ?” 

“ No, not a word. I think, though, that had there been anything 
in the story Lane would have let me know something about it, for we 
are very old and intimate friends. Did you say that that was Mr. 
Reginald Vincent who has just gone into the billiard-room ?” 

“ Yes,” answered Mr. Morris, “ that’s he. Would you like to 
know him?” 

u Very much indeed ; and if you’ve nothing better to do, come in 
and present me. Perhaps he will want to play a game of billiards, 
and if so I’m his man.” 

And so it happened that, that very morning, Gordon Noel was 
presented to Reginald Vincent, and when Regy went home to luncheon 
he spoke enthusiastically of his new-found acquaintance, whom he 
pronounced to be one of the most delightful fellows he had ever met 
anywhere, and who was such a warm and devoted friend of Captain 
Lane. “ I want, if I meet him this afternoon, as I probably shall, to 
bring him back to dinner with me. What say you, mother? — just 
informally.” 

“ Don’t yen think it would be better to wait a day or two, and 
have a little dinner, and invite a few friends to meet him ?” asked Mrs. 
Vincent. “ Your father, perhaps, would like to be consulted in the 
matter. I’ve no doubt that he would like to do something to show 
attention to any friend of Captain Lane’s. What do you think, 
Mabel ?” 

“ I vote for both,” replied that young woman, with much alacrity. 
“ I have met Mr. Noel twice.” 

“ Captain Noel, dear,” said Regy ; “ Captain Noel.” 

“ He is not a captain yet, Reginald : I happen to know from the 
regimental roster: I have a copy up-stairs, that Captain Lane very 
kindly left me.” And here a decided blush stole up the fair cheeks of 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


55 


the young lady. “ I learned a good deal about the officers of the 
regiment from Mr. Lane — Captain Lane — while he was here. Mr. 
Noel ranks second among the lieutenants of the regiment. As Cap- 
tain Lane said, he is so very near his captaincy that perhaps he ac- 
cepts the title that you all give him at the club as only a trifle prema- 
ture.” 

“ Well, captain or lieutenant, it doesn’t make any difference,” said 
Regy, impulsively : “ he’s a mighty good fellow, and a mighty good 
friend of your friend Captain Lane, and if you have no objection, 
mother, I’ll bring him around to dinner to-night, and then perhaps 
we might go to the theatre afterwards. I’m very sure that Captain 
Noel will enjoy it. Fact is, he enjoys everything. Everybody in the 
club is perfectly delighted with him. You ought to hear him sing an 
Irish song or tell a French story ! I’ll try and get him started when 
he comes here. He’s a wonderful mimic ; and he’s so full of informa- 
tion about their service on the frontier. Now, Lane so seldom spoke 
of anything of the kind ; but Noel will talk for hours at a time about 
the wonderful country through which they have scouted and fought, 
and all that they have been through in their campaigns. By Jove ! 
but that fellow has seen a lot of hard service, and has been through 
some hair-breadth escapes !” 

“ Who ?” inquired Mrs. Vincent ; “ Captain Lane or Mr. Noel ?” 

“ Noel, of course, — Noel I’m speaking of. Lane, no doubt, saw a 
great deal of service with the regiment ; but Noel says that he was 
adjutant so much of the time, and on other staff-duty, while he (Noel) 
was almost incessantly scouting, hunting after various Indian parties, 
and being on the war-path, as he laughingly expresses it.” 

“ Does he mean that Captain Lane didn’t see much actual service 
there ?” asked Miss Mabel, with heightened color. 

“ Oh, I don’t know that he means that. Don’t understand me as 
saying for a moment that Noel disparages Lane’s services ; on the con- 
trary, he never speaks of him except with the most enthusiastic regard. 
Neither does he boast at all of his own service ; only you can’t help 
seeing, in the modest, off-hand way in which he speaks of his cam- 
paigning, what a deal of hardship and danger he has encountered for 
the simple reason that he was with the command that had to go through 
it all.” 

“ Your father tells me,” said Mrs. Vincent, “ that he met him one 
day on ’Change when Mr. Withers brought him in ; that was before 


56 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the crash, and when he had no time to pay him any attention. Of 
course the cousin of Mr. Amos Withers was received with a great deal 
of bowing and scraping by Mr. Withers’s friends in that honorable 
body. But all the same I know your father will be glad to meet Mr. 
Noel now ; and by all means bring him, if you feel disposed, to-night. 
What manner of looking man is he ?” 

u A remarkably handsome man, mother,” said Mabel, at once, — 
%t one of the handsomest I ever saw ; and he certainly made himself 
very entertaining and very jolly the night we sat together at dinner at 
the Thorntons’.” 

“ There’s a great contrast physically between him and Lane,” put 
in Regy. “ Noel is such an elegantly built fellow, — so tall and fine- 
looking. Lane would be almost undersized when standing beside 
him, and is very much at a disadvantage when they appear together, I 
should judge.” 

A very bright and joyous party it was, seated around the home- 
like table of the Vincents that evening, and, as Regy had predicted, 
Noel proved very entertaining and a most agreeable guest. While 
showing much deference to Mr. Vincent and attention to his good 
wife, he nevertheless managed to have a great deal to say about 
the regiment and its daring and perilous service on the frontier, and 
to throw in here and there many a pleasant word about Captain 
Lane and their long and intimate acquaintance, and before dinner was 
over had won a warm place in Mabel Vincent’s heart by the way in 
which he so frequently spoke of the man to whom she had plighted 
her troth. 

And that very evening, as Frederick Lane, — far out under the 
star-lit sky of Arizona, — with his heart full of longing and love for 
her, and thinking only of her as he rode over the desolate plain with 
the lights of old Fort Graham already in view, Mabel Vincent, seated 
by Gordon Noel’s side, was looking up into his handsome face and 
listening to his animated voice between the acts of “ Twelfth Night.” 

IX. 

Only a short distance from the Arizona border, with the blue range 
of the Santa Catarina shutting out the sunset skies, with sand and 
cactus and Spanish bayonet on every side, the old post of Fort Graham 
stood in the desert like a mud-colored oasis. All the quarters, all the 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


57 


store-houses, stables, corrals, and barracks, were built of the native 
adobe; and though whitewash had been liberally applied, especially 
about the homes of the officers, and the long Venetian blinds at their 
front windows had been painted the coolest of deep greens, and clear 
running water sparkled through the acequias that bordered the parade, 
it could not be denied that at its best Graham was an arid and forbid- 
ding station, so far as one could judge by appearances. Trees, verdure, 
turf, were items almost unknown within a day’s march of the dag-staff; 
but in the old times when the Navajoes were the terror of the wide 1 
Southwest and even the Comanches sometimes carried their raids across 
the Rio Bravo del Norte — the Rio Grande of to-day — the post had 
been “ located” where it might afford protection to the “ Forty-Niners” 
and to the pioneers of the prairies ; the trans-continental trail led past 
its very gates, and many a time and oft the miner and the emigrant 
thanked God and the general government that the old fort was placed 
just where it was, for Indian pursuers drew rein when once in sight 
of its dingy walls ; and so from year to year for more than thrice a 
decade the flag was raised at sunrise, the post was always garrisoned ; 
and now, with the Southern Pacific piercing the range but a short dis- 
tance below, and landing stores and forage at the quartermaster’s d6p6t 
within four miles of the corrals, it became easier to maintain a force 
of cavalry at Graham ; and one of the troops there stationed was Lane’s 
new command, the relict of the late lamented Curran, “the Devil’s 
own D.” 

An easy-going old dragoon was Curran, and for years before his 
retirement it was an open secret that his first sergeant “ ran the troop” 
to suit himself and that the captain never permitted his subalterns 
to interfere. A more independent, devil-may-care, and occasionally 
drunken lot of troopers were rarely gathered in one such organization, 
and, while steady and reliable men on getting their discharges at the 
end of their term of enlistment would refuse to “ take on” again in D 
Troop, but would go over to Captain Breese or perhaps to a company 
at another station, all the scamps and rollicking characters in the regi- 
ment would drift over into “ D” and be welcomed by the choice spirits 
therein assembled. And this was the gang that Captain Lane was now 
expected to bring up with a round turn and transform into dutiful 
soldiers. Obedient to the colonel’s behest, he had stopped over a 
j couple of days at head-quarters, had had a most cordial greeting from 
every officer at the post, had called on all the ladies, — not omitting his 
C* 


58 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


fair detainers, — and then had hastened on to Graham and his new and 
trying duties. Every day, as he was whirled farther away from the 
home of her whom he so devotedly loved, he wrote long letters to her, 
filled with — only lovers know what all. And his heart leaped with 
joy that topmost in the little packet of letters awaiting him at the 
adjutant’s office when he reached his post was a dainty billet addressed 
to him in her beloved hand. Until he could get his quarters in habi- 
table condition the new troop-commander was the guest of Captain and 
Mrs. Nash ; and he could hardly wait for the close of that amiable 
woman’s welcoming address to reach his room and devour every word 
of that most precious missive. She had written — bless her ! — the very 
day after he left, and a sweet, womanly letter it was, — so shy and half 
timid, yet so full of faith and pride in him. Every one at Graham 
remarked on the wonderful change for the better that had come over 
Lane since he went East. Never had they seen him so joyous, so 
blithe in manner. He seemed to walk on air ; his eyes beamed on 
every one ; his face seemed “ almost to have a halo round it,” said Mrs. 
Nash, and neither she nor any woman in garrison had the faintest doubt 
as to the explanation of it all. Love had wrought the change, and 
being loved had intensified and prolonged it. Every man — every 
woman in garrison was his friend, and the happy fellow would gladly 
have taken dozens of them into his confidence and told them all about 
’*t, and talked by the hour of her. 

But there were reasons, Mrs. Vincent had said, why it was most 
desirable that there should be no announcement of the engagement as 
vet. What these were she did not explain to Mabel herself, but assured 
her that it was her father’s wish as well. Lane had rushed to the great 
jewelry-house of Van Loo & Laing, and the diamond solitaire that 
flashed among the leaves of the exquisite rose-bud he smilingly handed 
her that night was one to make any woman gasp with delight. Could 
anything on earth be rich enough, pure enough, fair enough, to lavish 
on her, his peerless queen ? 

She had held forth her soft white hand and let him slip it on the 
engagement finger and then bend the knee like knight of old and kiss 
it fervently. She revelled in it, rejoiced in it, but, heeding her mother’s 
advice, stowed it away where none could see it, in the secret drawer of 
her desk, and Lane was perfectly satisfied. “ I will tell you the reason 
some day,” Mrs. Vincent had said to him, “ but not just now, for I 
might be doing wrong and he had protested that she need never tel] 


TWO SOLDIERS. 59 

him. What cared he, so long as Mabel’s love was his, and they under- 
stood each other as they did? 

And so, while people at Graham plied him with questions and 
insinuations and side-remarks about the “ girl he left behind him” in 
the East, he kept faithfully to the agreement, and though all the gar- 
rison knew he wrote to her every day and took long rides alone that 
he might think of her, doubtless, and though every one knew that 
those dainty missives that came so often for Captain Lane were written 
by Miss Mabel Vincent, never once did he admit the existence of an 
engagement, — never once until long afterwards. 

The first real tidings that the Graham people had of her came in a 
letter from head-quarters. Mrs. Riggs had had such a long, charming 
letter rrom Mr. Noel that she called in several of her cronies and read 
it all to them ; and that very evening one of the number, unable to 
bear the burden of so much information, shifted it from her mental 
shoulders by writing it all to Mrs. Nash. Perhaps the best plan will 
be to read the extract which referred to Lane exactly as Mr. Noel 
wrote it : 

“ By this time I presume Fred Lane is busily engaged with his new 
troop. I served with them in the Sioux campaign, and they never gave 
me any trouble at all. So, too, in the Geronimo chase a while ago, 
when Major Brace picked me out to go ahead by night from Carrizo’s 
I asked for a detachment from D Troop, and the men seemed to appre- 
ciate it. I knew they would follow wherever I would lead, and would 
stand by me through thick and thin. If Lane starts in right I’ve no 
doubt they will do just as well for him ; but I expect he is feeling 
mighty blue at having to rejoin just now. You know I’ve always 
been a warm friend of his, and it hurt me to see him so unwilling to 
go back. No one seemed to know him very well in society ; and it’s 
very queer, for this was his old home, — and I was never more delight- 
fully welcomed anywhere ; the people are charming. But Lane had 
held himself aloof a good deal, and fellows at the club say he didn’t 
‘ run with the right set.’ Then, if all accounts be true, he had had 
hard luck in several ways. I’m told that he lost money in a big wheat 
speculation, and everybody says he totally lost his heart. I tell you 
this in confidence because I know you are a devoted friend of his, — as 
indeed you are of all in the dear old regiment, — but he was much 
embarrassed when it came to turning over the funds. There was quite 


60 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


a heavy shortage, which he had to make up at a time when it was 
probably most inconvenient. As to the other loss, it isn’t to be won- 
dered at. She is a beautiful and most charming girl, and many a man, 
I fancy, has laid his heart at her feet. It is said, however, that Lane’s 
loss is the heavier in this case because — well, I fear it will come to 
nothing. A young lady told me yesterday that there was something 
back of it all, — that she, Miss Vincent, was deeply in love with a Mr. 
Rossiter, of New York, and had been for over a year, and they were 
to have been married this coming September, but that the gentleman (?) 
learned that her father had been nearly swamped in speculation and 
had not a penny to give her. My informant went to school with Miss 
Vincent, and knows her intimately, and she says that Mr. Rossiter 
simply threw her over a short time ago, and that it was pique and 
exasperation and to hide her heart-break from the world that Mabel 
Vincent began to show such pleasure in Lane’s devotions. She led him 
on, so her lady friends say ; and now Mr. Rossiter has found out that 
old Vincent was sharper and shrewder than any one supposed and 
made instead of losing a pile, and now he is suing to be taken back, 
and they say that she is so much in love with the fellow that the 
chances are all in his favor. This is why I feel such sorrow and 
anxiety for Lane. 

“ Well, I led the german at a lovely party at the Prendergasts’ last 
night. Miss Vincent was there, looking like a peach -blossom, and we 
danced together a great deal. When it came time to break up I believe 
half the people in the rooms came to say good-night to me and to tell 
me they had never seen so delightful a german , — ‘ everything so 
depends on the leader.’ I have invitations for something or other for 
every night for the next fortnight ; and yet I so often long for the old 
regiment and the true friends I had to leave. It did me a world of 
good last night to meet old Colonel Gray, of the retired list, whose 
home is here, but he commanded the — th Infantry in the Sioux cam- 
paign, and when he saw me he threw his arms around my neck and 
hugged me before the whole throng of people. Give my love to our 
chief, always, and believ3 me, dear, true friend of mine, 

“ Yours most affectionately, 

“ Gordon Noel.” 

Condensed, edited by feminine hands, and accented here and there 
as suited the writer’s mood, this was the letter which formed the basis 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


61 


of the one received by Mrs. Nash. Lane by this time was cosily en- 
sconced in his quarters, and was giving all his time to the improvement 
of affairs about his troop’s barracks, kitchens, and stables, to drill- and 
target-practice, and to company duties generally. His days knew no 
relaxation from labor from reveille until “ retreat” at sunset, and then 
came the delicious evenings in which he could write to her and read a 
chapter or two of some favorite work before going early to bed. After 
the first week he seldom left his house after eight o’clock, and the gar- 
rison had therefore ample opportunity to discuss his affairs. Some 
color was lent to the story of his having lost money in speculation 
by a letter received from Cheyenne written to the new major of the 

th Infantry, who had recently joined by promotion from Fort 

Russell, near that thriving town. The writer said that Lane of the 
Eleventh Cavalry had sold his property there for fifteen thousand 
dollars about the end of June, and he had bought it for twenty-five 
hundred only nine years before. He could have got eighteen thousand 
just as well by waiting a few days ; but he wanted the money at once. 

No one, of course, could ask the captain any direct questions about 
his affairs of either heart or pocket, but Lane was puzzled to account 
for some of the remarks that were made to him, — the interrogato- 
ries about the methods of speculation, the tentatives as to chances of 
“ making a good thing” in that way, and the sharp and scrutinizing 
glances that accompanied the queries. The sweet, sympathetic, semi-con- 
fidential manner, the inviting way in which the ladies spoke to him of 
his present loneliness and their hopes that soon he would bring to them 
a charming wife to share their exile and bless his army home, — all this, 
too, seemed odd to him ; but, as he had never been in love nor engaged 
before, he did not know but that it was “ always the way with them,” 
and so let it pass. 

And then he was very happy in her letters. They were neither as fre- 
quent nor as long as his, but then she had such a round of social duties ; 
she was in such constant demand ; there were visitors or parties every 
night, and endless calls and shopping-tours with mother every day, and 
she was really getting a little run down. The weather was oppressively 
warm, and they longed to get away from the city and go to the moun- 
tains. It was only a day’s ride to the lovely resorts in the Alleghanies, 
but papa was looking a little thin and worn again, and the doctors had 
said his heart was affected, — not alarmingly or seriously, but mamma 
could not bear to leave him, and he declared it utterly impossible to be 

6 


62 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


away from his business a single day. He and Mr. Clark were very 
hopeful over a new venture they had made, the nature of which she did 
not thoroughly understand. 

But let us take a peep at some of those early letters, — not at the 
answers to his eager questions, not at the shy words of maiden love 
that crept in here and there, but at those pages any one might read. 

“ Tuesday night. 

“ . . . Such a delightful german as we had last night at the Pren« 
dergasts’ ! Captain Noel led — I have to call him captain, for every one 
does here, and if I say ‘ Mr/ they want to know why, and it is embar- 
rassing to explain how I know. He leads remarkably well, and I was 
very proud of ‘ our regiment/ sir, when listening to all the nice things 
said about him. How I wished for a certain other cavalry captain, 
now so many cruel miles away ! Mr. Noel took me out often, — and 
indeed I was a decided belle, — and he told me that he had to lead with 
Miss Prendergast, but would so much rather dance with me. 

“ It is almost settled that we go away in August for the entire 
month. Dr. Post says mother must go, and that father ought to go. 
Of course I go with mamma. Deer Park will doubtless be the favored 
spot I wish August were here ; I wish you were here ; I wish — oh, 
so many things ! Your letters are such a delight to me. I wonder if 
other girls have anything like them. Yes, you shall have the picture 
on my birthday ; but mind, sir, you are to take the utmost care of it, 
or the original will feel neglected.” 

“ Friday night. 

“ ... So many interruptions to-day, dear Fred ! You see what an 
incoherent thing this is thus far, and now I’m tired out. We had a 
charming time at the Woodrows’ dinner last evening. The day had 
been hot, but their table was set on the lawn under a canopy, and, the 
walls being raised, we had a delightful breeze from the river. Their 
place is one of the finest on the heights. I did so wish you could have 
seen it. Captain Noel took me in, and was so bright and jolly and 
full of anecdote. Everybody likes him, and I like him mainly be- 
cause he is such a loyal friend of yours. He talks so much of you 
and of all the dangers you have shared in common ; and you know 
how interesting all this must be to me. Sometimes I wonder that you 
had so little to say about him, — though you never did talk much about 
the regiment and never would talk much about yourself. Wednesday 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


63 


evening we had a little theatre-party. Regy got it up, and we just 
filled two adjoining loges. Captain Noel was Fanny Holton’s escort, 
but he talked most of the time with me, — a thing that my escort, Mr. 
Forbes, did not seem to like ; but, as he couldn’t talk, and Mr. Noel 
would, what could I do ?” 

“ Sunday evening. 

“ It is late, and I ought to be asleep, but the last caller has just 
gone, and to-morrow there may be no time to write at all, and you are 

such an exacting, tyrannical, dear old boy that Well, there, now, let 

me tell you of the day. You say anything and everything that I say 
or do is of interest. So, to begin with, yesterday I had a headache, due, 
I fear, to the late supper Regy gave us at the club after the theatre. 
Fanny Holton came to take me for a drive, but I did not feel like 
going, and begged off. Then she told me that Captain Noel was in 
the carriage waiting, and that he would be so disappointed. Mother 
came in and said the air would do me good ; and so we went, and I 
came back feeling so much brighter. Mr. Noel was very amusing, and 
kept us laughing all the time. Coming home, Fanny got out at her 
house, as she had to dress for dinner, but told the coachman to drive 
me home and Mr. Noel to the club. He began talking of you the 
moment she disappeared, and said he so hoped you were going to write 
regularly to him. Are you ? He seems so fond of you ; but I do 
not wonder at that. 

“ This morning we went to church, and afterwards Mr. Noel joined 
and walked home with us, and papa begged him to come in to luncheon, 
which he did. You dear fellow ! what have you done to my beloved 
old daddy, that he is so ardent an admirer of yours ? He shook Mr. 
Noel’s hand three times before he would let him go, and begged him 
to come often : he liked to know men, he said, who could so thoroughly 
appreciate — whom do you think, sir ? — Captain Fred Lane. After he 
had gone, papa spoke of him delightedly on two or three occasions. 
Will they take him away too as soon as he is really a captain ?” 

“Wednesday. 

“ You dear, dear, extravagant fellow ! Never have I had such ex- 
quisite flowers, or such profusion of them. You must have given your 
florist carte blanche. Nothing that came to me compared with them. 
My birthday was the cause of quite a little file in the family, and I 
had some lovely presents. Mr. Noel, too, sent a beautiful basket of 


64 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


roses, and it pleased me very much. I want your comrades to like mt, 
and yet I know he did this on your account. Though he is so thought- 
ful and delicate and never refers to our engagement, I feel that he 
' knows it ; and it seems better that way, somehow. 

“ You did not answer my questions about him, Fred. Didn’t you 
read my letter ?” 

Among the letters that came from the Queen City was one 
which bore the tremulous superscription of the head of the firm of 
Yincent c Clark & Co. It was brief, but it gave Captain Lane a thrill 
of gladness : 

u It was your timely and thoughtful aid that enabled us to recovel 
so much of our losses. You alone came to our rescue, and I fully 
appreciate the risk you ran. It will never be forgotten. 

“ Clark will send draft for the entire ain’t, or deposit to your 
credit, as you may direct. I go to New York and Chicago in two or 
three days. Our prospects are flattering.” 

X. 

August was close at hand. Queen City “ society” had scattered in 
every direction. The mountains and the sea-shore were levying tribute 
on the plethoric pockets of the “ big men” on ’Change and in business 
of every conceivable kind. Blinds and shutters were closed at scores 
of hospitable mansions in the narrow streets of the old city and even 
in the elegant villas that crowned the surrounding heights. The sun- 
glare at mid-day was so intense that no man was safe in venturing forth 
without a huge sunshade of some kind, and even within the sacred 
precincts of the club, where broad awnings hung on every side and 
palm-leaf fans were in constant motion, the men strolled in to luncheon 
in shirts of lightest flannel or pongee, with rolling collars and infini- 
tesimal neckties. Every one who could leave town had long since 
gone ; and yet the Vincents lingered. Each day seemed to add to 
the anxiety in the mother’s eyes as she watched her husband’s aging 
face. He had returned from a business-trip of ten days or so looking 
hopeful and buoyant, and had gone to the office the following morning 
with light step and cheery demeanor, but came home long after the 
dinner-hour listless and dispirited, — a severe headache, he said, but the 
wife knew that it was far more than head- or heartache. The family 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


65 


physician took occasion to warn Mr. Vincent that he was doing him- 
self grievous wrong, — that his health imperatively demanded rest and 
change of scene. Vincent looked in the good old doctor’s face with a 
world of dumb misery in his eyes, and only answered, “ I will, — I 
will, — in a week or so. I cannot quit my post just now. Clark is 
taking his vacation. When he returns I’ll go.” And until he could 
accompany them Mrs. Vincent refused to budge ; and yet she began to 
urge that Mabel should start now. What was to prevent her going at 
once and joining the Woodrows at Deer Park? Clarissa and Eleanor 
Woodrow were always such friends of hers. But Mabel begged that 
she might stay until both papa and mamma could go too ; she could 
not be content there without them, or at least without mother ; and 
Mrs. Vincent could not find the words in which to frame the cause of 
her greatest apprehension. 

The one man whom the heat was powerless to subdue was Gordon 
Noel. In the most immaculate and becoming costumes of white or 
straw color, that genial officer would saunter into the club at noontide, 
looking provokingly cool and comfortable, and, as he expressed it, 
“ without having turned a hair.” 

“ Hot !” he would say. “ Call this hot ? Why, bless your hearts, 
fellows, you ought to live in Arizona awhile ! Gad ! I’ve come in 
sometimes from a scout through the Gila desert and rushed for cold 
cream to plaster on my nose and cheeks : it would be all melted, of 
course ; but when I clapped it on it would sizzle just like so much 
lard in a frying-pan. And down at Fort Yuma our hens laid hard- 
boiled eggs from June to October.” And then his eyes would twinkle 
with fun, and he would bury his dark moustache in the cracked ice of 
his julep with infinite relish. 

“ I say,” queried Mr. Morris of his chum, Terry junior, one lan- 
guid afternoon after Noel had jauntily strolled away, “ don’t you envy 
a feller who can enjoy life like that ?” 

“ Never saw anything like it !” quoth the younger. “ One would 
suppose that after being a slave all mawning in those beastly works 
I ought to enjoy a little recreation ; but I can’t, you know.” 

“ Queer ducks, those army fellers. Gad ! this love-making by 
proxy is what gets me, — this sort of Miles Standish courtship business. 
She’s prettier, though, than the original Priscilla.” 

“ How do you mean ?” queried young Terry, vaguely. He had 
been brought up under the thumb of his elder brother, and, from the 

6 * 


66 


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outset, had been given to understand that if he expected to share in the 
profits he must learn the business. There had been no college for him, 
and New England legends were sealed books. 

“ Why, I mean that ’twouldn’t surprise me a bit if we had a mod- 
ern version of the old ‘Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?’ 
He’s with her incessantly.” 

“ Oh I Miss Vincent you’re speaking of. Her name’s Mabel, I 
thought, not — what’d you call her ?” 

“ Never mind, Jimmy,” said Morris, rising. “ Come and have a 
cigarette.” 

And it was not only in the club, over their cigars, that men 
spoke significantly of Noel’s attentions to the lovely daughter of the 
house of Vincent. It was not the men, indeed, who did the greater 
part of the talk. If they noticed and spoke of it, what must not the 
women have been saying ! Noel, quitting the hospitable roof of Cousin 
Amos, had taken rooms down in town, midway between the club and 
the Vincent homestead, and those two points became the limits of 
his field of action. The Withers household had gone to the Mary- 
land mountains, and the massive master of the establishment was 
treating himself to a month’s vacation. Almost all the pretty girls 
were gone. What more natural than that Mr. Noel should so fre- 
quently seek the society of the prettiest of all, even if she were 
engaged to Frederick Lane, as people said she was before he went 
away? There was no monitorial Amos to call him off, no one to 
bid him turn his devotions elsewhere ; and she herself could see no 
harm, for was not almost all his talk of Captain Lane ? was he not 
his loyal and devoted friend ? The captain’s letters came every day, 
and he seemed pleased to know that Noel had such pleasant things to 
say of him, and was so attentive, — or rather kind, because it wasn’t 
really on her account that he came so frequently. To be sure, Cap- 
tain Lane did not say much about the matter one way or the other ; 
and if he saw no harm, if he expressed no dissatisfaction, who else had 
any right to find fault ? 

Her mother, was the answer that conscience pricked into her heart 
quicker even than she could think. For days past the good lady’s 
manner to Noel had been gaining in distance and coolness. “ She is 
ill at ease, — worried about papa,” was Mabel’s attempt at a self-satis- 
fying plea ; but conscience again warned her that she knew better, — fax 
better. Her father, engrossed in business cares that seemed only to 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


67 


increase with every day, had no eyes or ears for affairs domestic ; and 
so it resulted that when Noel came sauntering in at evening with his 
jaunty, debonair, joyous manner, there was no one to receive him but 
Mabel, and he wanted no one more. 

“ Does Captain Lane know of this and approve it ?” was the grave 
question her mother had at last propounded. 

“ I have written to him with the utmost frankness, mother,” was 
Miss Vincent’s reply, while a wave of color swept over her face and a 
rebellious light gleamed in her eyes, “ and he has never hinted at such 
a thing as disapproval. He has more confidence in me than you have. 
If he had not ” 

But the rest was left unsaid. 

Poor Mrs. Vincent ! She turned away, well knowing that argu- 
ment or opposition in such matters was mistaken policy. The words 
that sprung to her lips were, “ Alas ! he does not know you as I do !” 
but she shut those lips firmly, rigorously denying herself the feminine 
luxury of the last word and the launching of a Parthian arrow that 
would have made, indeed, a telling shot. If heaven is what it is 
painted, there can be no more joy over the sinner that repenteth than 
over the woman who tramples down her fiercest temptation and 
“ bridleth her tongue.” Mrs. Vincent deserved to be canonized. 

And meantime how went the world with Lane ? Faithful, honest, 
simple-hearted man that he was, holding himself in such modest esti- 
mate, marvelling as he often did over the fact that he could have really 
won the love of a being so radiant, so exquisite, as Mabel, he lived in 
a dream that was all bliss and beauty, except for the incessant and all- 
pervading longing to see her, — to be near her. He loved her with an 
intensity that he had no means of expressing. Not a waking instant 
was she absent from his thoughts, and in his dreams she appeared to 
him, crowned with a halo such as never angel knew. He used 
to lie awake at times in the dead hours of the night, wondering 
if the very newsboys and workmen of the city realized their blessed 
privilege, that they could step upon the flagstones her little foot 
had pressed, that they could see her face, perhaps hear her voice, 
as she strolled in the cool of evening along the gravelled path- 
way of the little park that adjoined her home. Loving her as he 
did, his heart went out to any one who knew her or was even familiar 
with the city where she dwelt. He had felt for years a contempt for 
Gordon Noel that, at times, he had difficulty in disguising. Now he 


68 


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was tempted to write to him, to shut out the past, to open confi- 
dential relations and have him write long letters that should tell of 
her. There were three men in his troop in whom he felt a vague, 
mysterious interest simply because they had been enlisted at the old 
rendezvous on Sycamore Street, only three squares from her home. 
He was so full of hope and faith and love and gratitude that the whole 
garrison seemed to hold naught but cheer and friendliness. He never 
dreamed of the stories the men were telling or the confidences women 
were whispering about the post. Noel had written again to Mrs. Riggs, 
and Mrs. Riggs had not spared her information. It was now said in 
Queen City society that the engagement was of Mr. Vincent’s making. 
He had been associated with Lane in some speculations that proved 
disastrous, but the captain had shown such command of money and had 
“ put up” at such an opportune moment that they came out in good 
shape after all, and as soon as the old man found that Lane loved his 
daughter he insisted on her accepting him. The information about 
Lane’s coming to the rescue with money he had heard from Mr. 
Vincent himself, — as indeed he had. One evening when they were for 
the moment alone, in a burst of confidence to the man whom he believed 
to be a devoted friend of his prospective son-in-law, Vincent had told 
the silent officer the story of that perilous crisis and of Lane’s prompt 
and generous loan, — but not as Noel told it to Mrs. Riggs. 

“Do not distress yourself, my darling one,” wrote Lane to his 
fiancee, “ because your letters are a little less frequent just now. I know 
how occupied you must be with preparation, and how anxious you are 
about the dear old father. Next week you will be in the mountains ; 
and then, as you say, people will give you time to write, and then, too, 
I shall be happy in your regaining health and spirits. The papers tell 
me how intense has been the heat : it almost equals ours here in one 
way, and is much worse in being moist and muggy. There is a pros- 
pect of my going on a two weeks’ scout with my whole troop early in 
the month ; but your letters will reach me safely.” 

Why was it that she should experience a feeling almost of relief 
in reading that he was going to be absent from the garrison awhile, — 
going out on a two weeks’ scout ? 

She had sent him, as she promised, a lovely cabinet photograph of 
herself that had been taken expressly for him. It came to the old 
frontier fort just as the men were marching up from evening stables, 
and the messenger, distributing the mail about the post, handed the 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


69 


packet to the captain as he stood with a little knot of comrades on the 
walk. There was instant demand that he should open it and show the 
picture to them, but, blushing like a girl, he broke away and hid him- 
self in his room ; and then, when sure of being uninterrupted, he took 
it to the window and feasted his eyes upon the exquisite faoe and form 
there portrayed. He kept it from that time in a silken case, which he 
locked in a bureau drawer whenever he left the house, but in the even- 
ings, or when writing at his desk, he brought it forth to light again 
and set it where every moment he could look upon and almost wor- 
ship it. 

And then came her letters announcing their safe arrival at Deer 
Park : 

“ Our journey was most trying, for the heat was intolerable until 
we got well up among the mountains. Papa came ; but I know he 
is simply fretting his heart out with anxiety to get back to the office. 
Mr. Clark only returned from his vacation the day we started. Gordon 
Noel came down to the train to see us off, and brought mother a basket 
of such luscious fruit. He says that he has no home to go to, now that 
we are gone. Indeed, he has been very thoughtful and kind, and I 
don’t think he is quite happy, despite his efforts to be always gay and 
cheerful. . . . 

“ Do you really mean that you will be gone a fortnight ? How I 
shall miss your dear letters, Fred ! And now indeed I will try to 
write regularly. There’s no one here I care anything about, though 
the hotel seems very full, and there is much dancing and gayety. You 
say my letters will reach you ; but I wonder how.” 

Lane read this with a sigh of relief. He had persuaded himself 
that it was because he dreaded the effect of the long-continued hot 
weather upon her that he so desired her to get to the mountains. Any 
other thought would have been disloyalty to his queen. He wished — 
just a little bit — that she had not written of him as Gordon Noel : 
he much preferred that she should call him Captain. She would not 
write so fully and frankly of him if he were anything but friendly, he 
argued, and she would not tolerate his visits on any other grounds. 
Yet she did not tell him that they had walked up and down the plat- 
form together for ten minutes before the train started, and that when 
it was time to part he had bent down and said, almost in a whisper, — 

“ Do you want to send a message for me to Fred Lane in your next 
Letter?” 


70 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


u I will do so, if you wish,” she murmured ; but her eyes fell be- 
fore the gaze in his, and the hot blood rushed to her face. 

“ Tell him there’s no man in all the regiment I so long to see, and 
no man in all the world — I so envy.” 

Probably conscience smote her, for during the week that followed 
five letters came, — five letters in seven days ! His heart went wild 
with delight over their tenderness. The last was written Saturday, 
and then none came for three days ; and when the fourth day came 
and brought the longed-for missive it was a disappointment, somehow. 

“ Papa left us to go back to the office last night,” she wrote. “ He 
could stand it no longer. I fear it did him little good here. The 
Witherses came on Saturday, and that strange girl, Miss Marshall, 
is with them. She always impresses me with the idea that she is 
striving to read my thoughts. She speaks so admiringly of you, 
and says you were 1 so courteous’ to her the night you dined at the 
Witherses’ ; and I do not remember your ever saying anything about 
her to me. You see, sir, I am much more communicative about my 
friends. 

“ Vie had such a delightful surprise Saturday night. Who should 
appear in the hop-room but Gordon Noel ? He stayed until the mid- 
night train Sunday ; and I really was very glad to see him.” 

And here Lane stopped reading for a while. 


XI. 

For some reason or other, the scout which Lane’s company had been 
ordered to hold itself in readiness to make was postponed, no further 
orders coming from Department head-quarters which required sending 
any troops into the mountains west of Fort Graham. The captain, far 
from being disappointed, seemed strangely relieved that he was not re- 
quired to take his troop into the field at that particular moment. “ Some- 
thing had happened,” said Mrs. Breese, who was a keen observer, 
“ to change the spirit of his dream within the last few days.” His face 
lacked the radiant and joyous look that it had had ever since he came 
back from the East. “ Is he getting an inkling of the stories that are 
in circulation ?” was the natural inquiry. “ Is he beginning to learn 
that others were before him in that fair charmer’s regard ?” Still, no 
one could question him. There was something about him, with all his 
frankness and kindliness, that held people aloof from anything like 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


71 


confidence. He never had a confidant of either sex; and this was 
something that rendered him at one time somewhat unpopular among 
the women. Younger officers almost always, as a rule, had chosen 
some one of the married ladies of the regiment as a repositary of their 
cares and anxieties, their hopes and fears; but Lane had never in- 
dulged in any such luxury, and all the better for him was it. Now it 
was noticed with what eagerness and anxiety he watched for the coming 
of the mail. It was also observed that during the two weeks that fol- 
lowed only four letters were received in her, by this time, well-known 
superscription. Lane, of course, reading the contents, could readily 
account for the scarcity. Her letters were full of descriptions of dances 
and picnics and riding-parties to the neighboring mountains. They 
had met scores of pleasant people, and had become acquainted with a 
large circle from all parts of the country. They danced every evening 
regularly in the hop-room, and were so thoroughly acquainted, and so 
accustomed to one another’s moods and fancies, that hardly an houi 
passed in which they were not occupied in some pleasant recreation. 
Lawn-tennis had always been a favorite game of hers, and her mother 
was glad, she said, to see her picking it up again with such alacrity. 
The open air was doing her good: her color was returning; the lan- 
guor and weakness which had oppressed her when she first arrived 
after the long hot spell at home had disappeared entirely. But with 
returning health came all the longing for out-door active occupation, 
and, instead of having, as she had planned, hours in which to write to 
him, almost all her time now was taken up in joyous sports, in horse- 
back-rides, in long drives over the mountain-roads and through the 
beautiful scenery by which they were surrounded. “And so,” she 
said, “ Fred, dear, in regaining health and color, I fear, your Mabej 
has very sadly neglected you.” 

His reply to her letter telling him of Mr. Noel’s unexpected ap- 
pearance at the Park was rather a difficult one for him to write. It 
was dawning upon him that the attentions of his regimental comrade 
to his fiancee were not as entirely platonic as they might be. Desire 
to show all courtesy and kindliness to the lady-love of another officer 
was all very well in its way, but it did not necessitate daily calls when 
at home, and far less did it warrant his leaving his station without per- 
mission — running the risk of a reprimand, or even possible court-mar- 
tial — and taking a long journey, being absent from his post all Satur- 
day and certainly not returning there before the afternoon of Monday. 


72 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


If this were known at the head-quarters of the recruiting service, 
Lieutenant Noel in all probability would be rapped severely over the 
knuckles, if nothing worse. Lane could not, and would not, for 
an instant blame his fiancee, but he gently pointed out to her that 
Mr. Noel ran great risks in making such a journey, and that it 
would be well on that account to discourage similar expeditions in 
the future. To this she made no direct reply ; but that she observed 
his caution is quite possible. At all events, no further mention of 
visits on the part of Mr. Noel appeared in any of the letters which 
reached him before the orders for the scout actually did arrive ; but 
that was not until near the very end of the month. It was just about 
the 28th of August when rumors came of turbulence and threatened 
outbreak among the Indians at the Chiricahua Reservation. Troops 
were already marching thither from the stations in Arizona, and 
Captain Lane was ordered to cross the range and scout on the 
east side of the reservation, in order to drive back any renegades 
who might be tempted to “ make a break.” Just one day before the 
start he was surprised at receiving a letter from Mrs. Vincent. She 
6poke gladly of Mabel’s improved health and appearance ; she spoke 
hopefully of Mr. Vinoent, whose letters, she said, were more cheerful 
than they had been, and who had been able to come up and spend two 
Sundays with them. Mabel had doubtless told him of Mr. Noel’s visit, 
and how glad they were just then to see any face so pleasant and 
familiar. And now she wished to remind him of their contract before 
his leaving for the frontier. He doubtless remembered that she had 
promised that in the near future she would give him the reasons why 
it seemed best to her that the engagement should not be announced. 
It would take a pretty long letter to tell all the reasons why, so she 
would not venture upon that at the moment; but the necessity no 
longer existed, and if he so desired she would gladly have it now made 
known to his relatives, as she would now proceed to announce it to 
Mabel’s. 

Lane was greatly rejoiced at this. He had been a trifle uneasy 
and despondent of late, yet scarcely knew why. Her letters were not 
all he had hoped they would be by this time ; but then he did not 
know but that it was all natural and right ; he had never had love- 
letters before, — had never seen them, — and his ideas of what a woman’s 
letters to her betrothed should be were somewhat vague and undefined. 
However, there was no one in the garrison to whom he specially cared 


TWO SOLDIERS . 


73 


to formally announce his engagement. People had ceased of late 
making remarks or inquiries, as nothing had been successful in extract- 
ing information from him in the past. Giving directions that his mail 
should be forwarded once a week, or twice a week if possible, to the 
railway-station nearest the Chiricahua Mountains, where he could get 
it by sending couriers once in a while, provided there was no danger in 
doing so, Lane marched away one evening on what proved to be an 
absence of an entire month. He never again saw Fort Graham until 
the end of September, and then only long enough to enable him to 
change from his scouting-rig into travelling costume, to throw a few 
clothes into a trunk, and to drive to the railway-station as fast as 
the ambulance could carry him, in order to catch the first express-train 
going East. 

Nothing of very great importance had occurred on the scout. A 
few renegades managed to escape eastward from the reservation and 
to take to the mountains, through which Lane’s command was then 
scouting ; and to him and to his troop was intrusted the duty of cap- 
turing and bringing them back to the reservation. This took him 
many a long mile south of the railway. It was three weeks and 
more before he made his way to the reservation with his prisoners. 
There he found a small package of letters which had been forwarded 
direct from Graham, where they evidently knew that he would go into 
the Agency before reaching the railway, where his other letters were 
probably awaiting him. Among those which he received was one 
from Mr. Vincent. Briefly, it said to him, “ If a possible thing, come 
to us as soon as you can obtain leave of absence. There are matters 
which excite my greatest apprehension, and I feel that I must see you. 
My health, I regret to say, is failing me rapidly. Come, if you can.” 
Another was from Mrs. Vincent : she spoke with great anxiety of Mr. 
Vincent’s waning health ; said very little of Mabel, nothing whatever 
of Mr. Noel. She told him that the engagement had been formally 
announced to all their relatives, and that letters of congratulation had 
been showered on Mabel from all sides, — although there was some 
little surprise expressed that she should marry an army officer. “ She, 
herself, has not been well at all, and I really believe that a visit from 
you would do much to restore her health and spirits. She has been 
unlike herself ever since we came back from the mountains.” 

In this same package of letters were two from Mabel. These he 
read with infinite yearning in his heart, and they only served to increase 
D 7 


74 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the wordless anxiety and the intolerable sense of something lacking 
which he had first felt after the letter that announced Gordon Noel’s 
visit to Deer Park. One more letter there was : this he opened, saw 
that it was type-written and had no signature, indignantly tore it into 
fragments, and tossed them to the wind. 

The commanding general of the Department — an old and kind 
friend of Lane’s — was then looking over affairs for himself, at the 
reservation. Lane obtained a few moments’ conversation with him, 
briefly stated his needs, and showed him Mr. Vincent’s letter. The 
instant the general saw the signature he looked up, startled, and then 
arose from his seat, put his hand on the captain’s shoulder, and drew 
him to one side. 

“ My dear boy,” he said, “ there is later news than this. It is 
dated September 14, you see. Have you heard nothing more ?” 

“ Nothing, general. What has happened ?” answered Lane, his 
voice trembling and his bronzed face rapidly paling. “ Am I — am I 
too late ?” 

“ I fear so, Lane. Had Mr. Vincent a partner named Clark ?” 

u Yes, sir, — his junior partner.” 

u Clark defaulted, embezzled, hypothecated securities and heaven 
knows what all, blew out his brains in his private office, and Mr. Vin- 
cent stumbled over the body an hour afterwards, was prostrated by the 
shock, and died of heart-failure three days later. The papers were full 
of the tragedy for nearly a week ; but there are none to be had here, 
I’m afraid. Now you will want to start at once. Never mind your 
troop. Just tell your lieutenant to report here to Captain Bright 
for orders, and I’ll have them sent back to Graham by easy marches.” 

Late at night Lane reached the railway, only to find his train five 
hours behind. He telegraphed to Mabel that he would come to her as 
fast as train could bring him, — that the sad news had only just reached 
him. He strode for hours up and down the little platform under the 
glittering stars, yearning to reach her, to comfort and console her in 
this bitter sorrow. Time and again he turned over in mind the few 
particulars which he had obtained from the Department commander. 
They were all too brief, but pointed conclusively to one fact, — that 
Clark had been encouraged by the success of J une to plunge still more 
deeply, in the hope of retrieving the losses of the past two years. 
Luckily for Vincent, he had used his June winnings in lifting 
the mortgage from his homestead and in taking up any of his out- 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


75 


standing paper, and so had little wherewith to supply his confident 
partner ; but Lane wondered if the kindly old man had any idea that 
up to the end of August, at least, Clark had not sent to him, as 
directed, " the draft for the entire amount” to which referred the first 
letter Mr. Vincent had ever written him. 

It was daybreak when the train came. It was noon when he sprang 
from the cars at Graham Station and into the ambulance sent to meet 
him in response to his telegraphic request. Were there any letters ? he 
eagerly asked. None now. A small package had been forwarded to 
the reservation last night, and must have passed him on the way. 
Others had been waiting for him at the mountain-station until he was 
reported by wire as arriving with his prisoners at the Agency. Every- 
thing then had been sent thither, and there would be no getting them 
before starting. At Graham the telegraph operator showed him the 
duplicates of the telegrams that had come for him in his absence,— 
only two. One announced Mr. Clark’s suicide and Vincent’s prostra- 
tion and danger ; the other, two days later, briefly read, “ Mr. Vincent 
died this morning. Mrs. Vincent and Mabel fairly well.” 

Both were signed “ Gordon Noel,” and a jealous pang shot through 
the poor fellow’s heart as he realized that in all their bereavement and 
grief it was Noel’s privilege to be with them and to be of use to them, 
while he, her affianced husband, was far beyond hail. He was ashamed 
of his own thoughts an instant after, and bitterly upbraided himself 
that he was not thankful that they could have had so attentive and 
thoughtful an aid as Noel well knew how to be. Yet — why was not 
Reginald sufficient? 

He had torn into fragments the anonymous sheet that had met him 
at the reservation, and yet its words were gnawing at his heartstrings 
now, and he could not crush them down : 

“ Why was your engagement denied ? Because she still cared for 
Will Rossiterand hoped he might come back to her after all. 

“ Why did Gordon Noel stay at the other hotel the second and 
third times he spent Sunday at Deer Park ? Because she wished to 
hide from her mother, as she did from you, that he came at all. 

“ Why does she meet him on the street instead of at home ? 
Because her father interposed in your behalf ; but all the same you are 
being betrayed.” 

These words — or others exactly of their import, were what met hia 
startled eyes at Chiricahua, but the instant he noted that these carefully 


76 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


type-written sentences were followed by no signature at all, — not even 
the oft-abused “ A Friend,” — indignation and wrath followed close on 
the heels of his amaze, and in utter contempt he had destroyed the 
cowardly sheet ; but he could not so easily conquer the poison thus 
injected in his veins. All the long, long journey to the East they 
haunted him, dancing before his eyes, sleeping or waking, and it was 
with haggard face and wearied frame that he reached the Queen City, 
and, taking a cab, drove at once to her home. 

It was a lovely evening in early October. The sun had been 
shining brilliantly all day long, and almost everywhere doors and 
windows were open to woo the cool air now gently stirring. The cab 
stopped before the well-remembered steps, and Lane hastened to the 
broad door- way. No need to ring : the portals stood invitingly open. 
The gas burned brightly in the hall and in the sitting-room to the left. 
He entered unhesitatingly, and stood all alone in the room where he 
had spent so many happy hours listening to the music of her voice, 
watching the play and animation in her lovely face. He caught a 
glimpse of his own, gaunt, haggard, hollow-eyed, in the mirror over 
the old-fashioned mantel. What was he, that he should have won a 
creature so radiant, so exquisite, as the girl who haxi made these silent 
rooms a heaven to him ? There was the heavy portiere that shut off 
the little passage to the library. His foot-fall made no sound in the 
deep, rich carpeting. It was there she welcomed him that wonderful 
Friday afternoon, — that day that was the turning-point, the climax, 
of his life. Hark ! was that her voice, low, sweet, tremulous, in there 
now? Hush! Was that a sob? — a woman’s suppressed weeping? 
Quickly he stepped forward, and in an instant had thrust aside the 
second portiere; but he halted short at the threshold, petrified by the 
scene before him. 

Mabel Vincent, clasped in Gordon Noel’s embrace, her arms about 
his neck, gazing up into his face with almost worship in her weeping 
eyes, raised her lips to meet the passionate kiss of his. “ My darling,” 
he murmured, “ what can you fear ? Have you not given me the 
right to protect you ?” And the handsome head was tossed proudly 
back and for one little minute was indeed heroic. Then, with instan- 
taneous change, every drop of blood fled from his face, leaving it ashen, 
death-like. 

a Gordon /” she cried, “ what is it ? Are you ill ?” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 77 

Then, following the glance of his staring eyes, she turned, and saw, 
and swooned away. 

XII. 

A dreary winter was that of 188- at old Fort Graham. Captain 
Breese became major of the — th, and his troop was ordered to exchange 
with K, which had been so long at head-quarters, and this brought 
old Jim Rawlins up to take command of the little cavalry battalion at 
“ the oasis.” There were many of the officers — Rawlins among them — 
who thought that after his success with “ the Devil's Own,” as D Troop 
had been called, Lane was entitled to enjoy the position of battalion 
commander ; but Mrs. Riggs had promptly asserted her belief that he 
was not in position to enjoy anything. He had come back to the post 
late in the fall, looking some years older and graver ; he had been very 
ill at Jefferson Barracks, said letters from that point, while waiting to 
take out a party of recruits to the regiment; he had resumed duty 
without a word to anybody of the matters that had s6 suddenly called 
him East, but there was no need of telling : they knew all about it ; 
at least they said and thought they did. Mrs. Riggs had had such 
complete accounts from Noel, and had received such a sweet letter from/ 
Miss Vincent in reply to the one she had written congratulating her 
upon her engagement to her (Mrs. Riggs's) “ favorite among all the 
officers , — and the colonel's, too.” “ She was so sorry — so painfully dis- 
tressed — about Captain Lane,” said Mrs. Riggs. “ She never really 
cared for him. It was gratitude and propinquity, and pleasure in his 
attentions, that she mistook for love ; but she never knew what love 
was until she met Gordon. They were to be married early in the 
spring, and would take only a brief tour, for he had to be at his station. 
She dreaded coming to the regiment, though she would follow Gordon 
to the end of the world if he said so, for she knew there were people 
who would blame her for breaking with Captain Lane as she had to ; 
but she knew long before she did so that they could never be happy 
together. She had written to him, telling him all, long before he came 
East and they had that dreadful scene in which Mr. Noel had behaved 
with such perfect self-command and such excessive consideration for 
Captain Lane's feelings. Of course, as Gordon said, all possibility of 
reconciliation or future friendship between them was at an end unless 
Captain Lane humbly apologized. She had been mercifully spared 
hearing it ; for the fearful expression of his face when they discovered 

7* 


78 


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him listening at the portiere had caused her to faint away, and she only 
came to, Gordon said, in time to prevent his pitching him out of the 
window, so utterly was he tried. She was so thankful to have in Mrs. 
Riggs a friend who would not see Gordon wronged, and who could be 
counted on to deny any stories that poor Captain Lane in his dis- 
appointment might put in circulation.” 

But Lane never mentioned the subject. As for the letters to which 
she referred, they all followed him East in one bundle and were sent 
to her unopened ; and she knew when she wrote to Mrs. Riggs that, 
though she might have “ told him all,” as she said, he never knew a 
word of it until his eyes and ears revealed the truth that wretched 
night in the library where his brief, sweet love-dream began and ended. 

There were other matters wherein Mr. Noel himself was consulting 
Mrs. Riggs. He was now senior first lieutenant. Any accident of 
service might make him a captain, and then, if precedent were followed, 
“ he might be ordered to join at once. Ordinarily, as she well knew, 
nothing would give him greater joy ; but now — solely on Mabel’s 
account — he hesitated. A friend at the War Department had said 
that, if Colonel Riggs would approve, a six months’ leave to visit 
Europe, for the purpose of prosecuting his professional studies, might 
be obtained. Would she kindly, etc., etc.” 

There was no one to write or speak for Lane : only one side of the 
story was being told, and, though the men had had little else than 
contempt for Noel, they were of small account in moulding garrison 
opinions as compared with two or three determined women. 

But no one saw the sorrowful, almost heart-broken, letter written 
by Mrs. Vincent to Lane. She had no words in which to speak of 
Mabel’s conduct. They had both been deceived ; and yet she implored 
him for forgiveness for her child. The world was all changed now. 
Their home remained to them, and her own little fortune, together with 
the wreck of Mr. Vincent’s, but Regy had to go out into the world 
and seek to earn what he could. He had no idea of business. There 
was no one to step in and build up the old firm, and the executors had 
advised that everything be closed out, Mr. Clark’s affairs had been 
left in lamentable confusion, but luckily he had nothing else to leave, — 
nothing, that is, but confusion and creditors. People were constantly 
importuning her for payment of his liabilities, claiming that they were 
contracted by the firm. Her lawyers absolutely forbade her listening 
to such demands. If she paid one-fourth of them she would have 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


79 


nothing left. Lane thought of his sacrificed Cheyenne property and 
the little fortune he had so freely offered up to save to the girl he loved 
the home in which she had been reared. The very roof under which 
the girl had plighted her troth to him and then dishonored it for 
Noel— -under which, day after day, she was now receiving, welcoming, 
caressing him — was practically rescued for her and her mother by the 
money of the man she had cast aside. 

The wedding-cards came in April. It was to be a quiet affair, 
because of the death of Mr. Vincent within the year. Lane read the 
announcement in the Army and Navy Journal , and sat for a while, the 
paper dropping to the floor and his head upon his hands. Elsewhere 
in its columns he found a full account, written evidently by some one 
thoroughly well acquainted with all the parties, except perhaps the 
gallant groom. 

When Lane’s servant tiptoed in at reveille the next morning 
to prepare the bath and black the boots, he was surprised to find 
that officer sitting at his desk with his head pillowed in his arms. He 
had not been to bed, and did not know that reveille had sounded. Was 
he ill ? Did he need the doctor ? No. He had to sit up late over 
some letters and papers, and had finally fallen asleep there. All the 
same Dr. Gowen, happening into the hospital while Lane was visiting 
one of his men after sick-call, stopped, and keenly examined his face. 

“ I want you to go right to your quarters and stay there, Lane, for 
you’ve got a fever, and, I believe, mountain fever,” were his immediate 
orders. " I’ll be with you in a moment.” It was only the beginning 
of what proved to be a trying illness of several weeks’ duration. 
When Lane was able to sit up again, it was the recommendation of 
the post-surgeon and of his regimental commander that he be sent East 
on sick-leave for at least three months. And the first week of June 
found him at West Point : he had many old and warm friends there, and 
their companionship and cordiality cheered him greatly. One night, 
strolling back from parade to the broad piazza of the hotel, he saw the 
stage drive up from the landing and a number of visitors scurry up the 
steps in haste to escape the prying eyes of the older arrivals, who in- 
variably thronged the south piazza at such times and curiously inspected 
the travel -stained and cinder-spotted faces of those whose ill luck it was 
to have to run that social gauntlet. There was something familiar in 
the face of a young lady following a portly matron into the hall, and 
when a moment later he came upon the massive frame of Mr. Amos 


80 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Withers, registering himself, his wife, daughters, and Miss Marshall, of 
the Queen City, Lane knew at once that it was his friend of the dismal 
dinner of nearly a year ago. Later that evening he met her in the 
hall, and was surprised at the prompt and pleasant recognition which 
she gave him. It was not long before they were on the north piazza, 
watching that peerless \iew up the Hudson, and, finding that she had 
never been there before and was enthusiastic in her admiration of the 
3cenery, Lane took pleasure in pointing out to her the various objects 
of interest that could be seen through the brilliant sheen of moonlight. 
And so, having made himself at once useful and entertaining, he finally 
went to his bed with a sensation of having passed rather a brighter 
evening than he had known in a long, long time. 

On the following day Miss Marshall was in the hall, reading, 
when he came out from breakfast. She was waiting, she said, for Mrs. 
Withers to come down. The nurse was dressing the children. 

“ I want to ask you something, Captain Lane. I saw Mrs. Vin- 
cent just before I left home, and had a little talk with her. She has 
always been very kind to me. Did you ever receive a letter she wrote 
to you three or four weeks ago ?” 

“ I never did,” said Lane. “ Do you think that she did write to 
me ?” 

“ I know she did. She told me so, and expressed great surprise 
that you had accorded her no answer. She felt very sure of your 
friendship, and she was at a loss to understand your silence. Although 
I had only met you once or twice before, I felt that I knew you so well 
that you could not refuse to answer a letter from so lovable a woman as 
she, and I deemed it my duty to let you know what she had told me. 
I am very glad now that I did so.” 

“ Is she at home ?” asked Lane, eagerly. 

“ She was when I left, but they were expecting to go to the moun- 
tains. Mrs. Noel seems to be drooping a little. The weather is very 
warm there already, as you know, and the doctor has advised that 
both ladies go up to Deer Park. Mrs. Noel doesn’t wish to go, as it 
takes her so far from her husband ; but, as he was able to get there 
quite frequently when they were there before, I see no reason why he 
should not be able to join them every week now.” 

‘‘Was he there frequently when they were there before?” asked 
Lane, an old, dull pain gnawing at his heart. 

“ He was there three or four times to my knowledge during our 


T WO SOLDIERS. 


81 


stay, but of course his visits were very brief : he came generally Satur- 
day and went away at midnight Sunday.” 

“ I will go and telegraph to Mrs. Vincent. If need be, I will go 
and see her ; and I thank you very much, Miss Marshall.” 

That evening he received a despatch from Mrs. Vincent in response 
to the one sent almost immediately after this conversation. “ If pos- 
sible, come here. I greatly desire to see you. Wire answer.” What 
could it mean ? 

By the first train on the following morning he left for New York, 
and was far on his way to the Queen City when sunset came. Ar- 
riving there, he went first to the old hotel, and, after changing his dress 
and removing the stains of travel, for the first time since his memora- 
ble visit of October he mounted the broad stone steps and asked to see 
Mrs. Vincent. She came down almost instantly, and Lane was shocked 
to see how she had failed since their last meeting. Years seemed to 
have been added to her age ; her hair was gray ; the lines in her 
gentle, patient face had deepened. She entered, holding forth both 
hands, but when she looked into his eyes her lips quivered and she 
burst into tears. Lane half led, half supported her to a chair, and, 
drawing one to her side, spoke soothingly to her. For a few moments 
she could not speak, and when she did he checked her. 

" Oh, you too have aged and suffered ! and it is all our doing, — all 
our doing 1” she moaned, as her tears burst forth anew. 

“ Never mind my crow’s-feet and gray hairs, dear lady,” he said. 
u It is high time I began to show signs of advancing age. Then, 
too, I am just up from a siege of mountain fever.” 

“ Was that the reason you did not answer ?” she presently asked. 

“ I never got your letter, Mrs. Vincent. When was it mailed ?” 

“ About the 10th of May. I remember it well, because — it was just 
after Mabel and Captain Noel got back from their tour.” 

“ Pardon me, but did you post it yourself?” 

u No. The postman always takes my letters. I leave them on the 
little table in the vestibule.” 

“ Where any one can see them ?” 

“ Yes ; but who would touch my letters?” 

Lane did not know, of course. He was only certain that nothing 
from Mrs. Vincent had reached him during the past six months. 

“ Captain Lane,” she said, at last, “ I want you to tell me the truth. 
Just after Mabel’s marriage I heard that a story was in circulation to 

D* 


82 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the effect that it was your money that enabled Mr. Vincent to tide over 
the crisis in his affairs a year ago. It was even said that you had sold 
property at a loss to supply him with means ; and some people in society 
are so cruel as to say that MabeFs trousseau was actually purchased 
with your money, because it had never been repaid. I know that Mr. 
Vincent often spoke of his obligation and gratitude to you. Tell me 
truly and frankly, Captain Lane : did you give my husband money ? 
Is this story true ?” 

“ I never gave Mr. Vincent a cent.” 

“ Oh, I am so thankful ! We have been the means of bringing 
such sorrow to you ” 

“ I beg you, make no reference to that, Mrs. Vincent. Neither your 
honored husband nor you have I ever thought in the least responsible 
And as for this other matter, you have been misinformed.” 

a What cruel, reckless stories people tell! It hurt me terribly; 
and then when no answer came to my letter I felt that probably there 
was something in it, and that you were hiding the truth from me. 
Mabel heard it too ; but she said that Captain Noel investigated it at 
once and found that it was utterly false. I could not be satisfied until 
I had your own assurance.” 

“ And now you have it,” he said, with a smile that shone on his 
worn face and beamed about his deep-set eyes like sunshine after April 
showers. “ You are going to be advised now, are you not, and seek 
change and rest in the mountains ?” 

“ We meant to go this week ; but Mrs. Paterson, of Philadelphia, 
is urging us to spend the summer with her at the sea-shore, where she 
has a roomy cottage. She is a cousin of Captain NoeFs, and was an 
intimate friend of MabeFs at school. That was where my daughter 
first heard of him. Oh, I wish — I wish ” 

And here once more Mrs. Vincent's tears poured forth, and it was 
some time before she could control herself. 

At last the captain felt that he must go. It was now his purpose to 
leave town as soon as he could attend to one or two matters of business. 

“ Shall I not see you again ?” she asked, as he rose to take his leave. 

“ I fear not,” he answered. “ There is nothing to require more 
than an hour or two of attention here, and then I shall seek a cooler 
spot for a few weeks' rest, then back to the regiment.” 

“ But we — that is, I heard you had three months' sick-leave.” 

“ Very true; but I only need one, and I am best with my troop.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


83 


t( Tell me,” she asked : “ is it true that there is trouble brewing again 
among the Indians, — at San Carlos, isn’t it ?” 

" There seems to be bad blood among them, and no doubt disaffec- 
tion ; but if sufficient troops are sent to the Agency and to scout around 
the reservation they can be held in check.” 

“ But I have been told that you have too small a force to watch 
them. I wish you were not going back ; but it is like you, Captain 
Lane.” 

And so they parted. He saw and heard and asked nothing of his 
whilom fiancee. He did not wish to see her husband. He meant to 
have left town that very evening, after brief consultation with a real- 
estate agent whom he had had occasion to employ in his service ; but 
even as he was stowing his travel ling- a kit” in a roomy leather bag 
there came a knock at his door and there entered a man in plain civilian 
dress, who motioned the bell-boy to clear out, and then held forth a 
photograph : 

“ Captain Lane, is that your man Taintor ?” 

“ That is certainly like the man,” was Lane’s answer, after careful 
inspection. “ Have you got him ?” 

“ No, sir. We had him, and took Captain Noel to see him, and the 
captain said there was some mistake. He wears his hair and beard 
different now ; but we know where he is, — at least, where he was up to 
yesterday. He left his lodgings at noon, and took a bag with him, as 
though he meant to be away a few days. He does copying and type- 
writing, and manages to get along and support a good-looking young 
woman who passes as his wife. That’s what we think brought him 
back here last winter.” 

“Why didn’t you take some of the recruiting-party to see him? 
They could identify him.” 

“ All the old men that were with you are gone, sir. It’s a new lot 
entirely. They said the sergeant couldn’t get along with the captain 
at all, and they were all sent away.” 

“ Where’s the woman who kept the lodging-house for the party ?” 

“ She’s gone too, sir. They moved away last winter because Cap- 
tain Noel gave the contract to another party in a different part of the 
town. We let the thing slide for quite a while ; but when the Chief 
heard that you had arrived in town he thought he’d shadow the fellow 
until you could see him, but he had skipped. Was there any way he 
could have heard you were coming ?” 


84 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


“No. I telegraphed from West Point to Mrs. Vincent. She was 
the only one who knew.” 

“ Beg pardon, sir, but isn’t that Captain Noel’s mother-in-law ? 
The captain lives there, I think.” 

Lane turned sharply and studied the man’s face. A question was 
at his very tongue’s end, — “ You do not suppose he could have given 
warning ?” — but he stifled it, his lips compressing tight. 

“ If you think he has gone because of my coming, I will leave on 
the late train, as I purposed, and you can wire to me when he returns. 
Then keep him shadowed until I get here.” 

And with this understanding they parted, Lane going at once to a 
cool resort on one of the great lakes. Four days later came the de- 
spatch he looked for, and, accompanied by two detectives, Lane knocked 
at the indicated door-way one bright, sunshiny afternoon within forty- 
eight hours thereafter. 

A comely young woman opened the door just a few inches and in- 
quired what was wanted. “ Mr. Graves was not at home.” He cer- 
tainly would not have been in a minute more, for a man swung out of 
the third-story window, and, going hand by hand down the convenient 
lightning-rod, dropped into the arms of a waiting officer, and that night 
the forger and deserter spent behind the bars in the Central Station. 
The identification was complete. 

Lane was to appear and make formal charge against him the follow- 
ing morning. Going down to an early breakfast, he picked up one of 
the great dailies at the news-stand, and, after taking his seat at table 
and ordering a light repast, he opened the still moist sheet. The first 
glance at the head-lines was enough to start him to his feet. “ Indian 
Outbreak.” “The Apaches on the War-Path.” “Murder of Agent 
Curtis at San Carlos.” “Massacre of a Stage-Load of Passengers.” 
“ Captain Rawlins, Eleventh Cavalry, a victim.” “ Horrible Atroci- 
ties.” “ Troops in Pursuit.” 

It was the old, old story briefly told. Warnings disregarded ; 
official reports of the neighboring troop-commanders pooh-poohed and 
pigeon-holed by functionaries of the Indian Bureau ; a sudden, startling 
rush of one body upon the agent and his helpless family ; a simulta- 
neous dash from the other end of the reservation upon the scattered 
ranches in the valley ; a stage-coach ambushed ; a valued old soldier 
butchered in cold blood. There was no more thought of breakfast for 
Lane. He hurried to the telegraph-office, thence to the police-station, 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


85 


thence to an attorney whom he was advised to employ, and by noon 
he was whirling westward. “ No laggard he” when the war-cry rang 
along the blazing border. 


XIII. 

The Morning Chronicle , a most valuable sheet in its way, in its 
Sunday edition contained the following interesting item : 

“ No event in social circles has eclipsed of late the banquet given at 
the club last night in honor of Captain Gordon Noel, of the Eleventh 
Cavalry, on the eve of his departure to take command of his troop, now 
hastening to the scene of Indian hostilities in Arizona. As is well 
known to our citizens, the news of the murderous outbreak at the 
reservation was no sooner received than this gallant officer applied 
instantly to be relieved from his present duties in our midst and ordered 
to join his comrades in the field, that he might share with them the 
perils of this savage warfare. 

“ Covers were laid for forty. The table was decorated with flowers 
and glistened with plate and crystal. The most conspicuous device was 
the crossed sabres of the cavalry, with the number 11 and the letter 
K, that being the designation of the captain’s company. His honor 
Mayor Jenness presided, and the Hon. Amos Withers faced him at the 
other end of the banquet-board. The speech of the evening was made 
by Mayor Jenness in toasting ‘ our gallant guest/ which was drunk 
standing and with all honors. We have room only for a brief sum- 
mary of his remarks. Alluding to the previous distinguished services 
of the captain, he said that ‘ In every Territory of our broad West his 
sabre has flashed in the defence of the weak against the strong, the 
poor settler against the powerful and numerous savage tribes too often 
backed by official influence at Washington. And now, while cheeks 
were blanching and hearts were still stricken by the dread news of the 
butcheries and rapine which marked the Indians’ flight, when others 
shrank from such perilous work, where was the man who could sup- 
press the fervent admiration with which he heard that there was one 
soldier who lost no time in demanding relief from duty here, that he 
might speed to the head of the gallant fellows already in the field, who 
had followed him in many a stirring charge and through all “ the cur- 
rent of many a heady fight whose hearts would leap for joy at sight of 
their beloved leader’s face, — the man who never yet had failed them, 
the man who never yet had faltered in his duty, the man whose sword 

8 


86 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


was never drawn without reason, never sheathed without honor, — oui 
soldier guest, Cuptain Gordon Noel ?’ 

“ Much affected, it was some minutes before the captain could respond. 
The modesty of the true soldier restrained his eloquence. i He knew 
not how to thank them for this most flattering testimony of their con- 
fidence and regard ; he far from deserved the lavish praise of their 
honored chairman. If in the past he had succeeded in winning their 
esteem, all the more would he try to merit it now. No soldier could 
remain in security when such desperate deeds called his comrades to 
the fray ; and as he had ever shared their dangers in the old days, so 
must he share them now. His heart, his home, his bride, to part from 
whom was bitter trial, he left with them to guard and cherish. Duty 
called him to the front, and with to-morrow’s sun he would be on his 
way. But, if it pleased God to bear him safely through, he would 
return to them, to greet and grasp each friendly hand again, and mean- 
time to prove himself worthy the high honor they had done him.’ 

“ There was hardly a dry eye at the table when the gallant soldier 
finished his few remarks and then took his seat. 

“ Besides winning the heart and hand of one of the loveliest of the 
Queen City’s daughters, the captain has made hosts of friends in our 
midst, and we predict that when the records of the campaign are written 
no name will shine with brighter lustre than that of Gordon Noel.” 

This doubtless was delightful reading to Noel and to Noel’s rela- 
tives. Doubtless, too, it was some comfort to poor Mabel as she lay 
pale, anxious, sore at heart on the following day, while her husband 
and lover — as he undoubtedly was — sped westward with the fast 
express. But there was a great deal about the Chronicle's account 
that would have elicited something more than a broad grin from 
officers who knew Noel well. 

An entire week had elapsed from the time that the first tidings 
were received to the moment when he finally and most reluctantly left 
the Queen City. The first intimation was enough to start Captain 
Lane, despite the fact that his health was far from restored and that he 
was yet by no means strong. He felt confident that the Indians would 
be joined by some of the Chiricahuas, and that the campaign would 
be fierce and stubborn. Telegraphing to the regimental adjutant and 
the general commanding the department that he intended to start at 
once, and asking to be notified en route where he could most speedily 
join the troop, he was on his way within six hours. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


87 


That very night, although no mention was made of this in the 
Chronicle account, Captain Noel received a despatch from the Adju- 
tant-General's Office at Washington briefly to this effect : “ You become 
Captain of K Company, vice Rawlins, murdered by Apaches. Hold 
yourself in readiness to turn over the rendezvous and join your regi- 
ment without delay." No news could have been more unwelcome. 
Despite his many faults, there was no question that Gordon Noel was 
very much in love with his wife ; but he never had been in love with 
the active part of his profession. That night he telegraphed to relatives 
who had stood by him in the past, and wrote urgent and pleading 
letters informing them that his wife's health was in so delicate a state 
that if he were compelled at this moment to leave her and to go upon 
perilous duty in the Apache country there was no telling what might 
be the effect upon her. If a possible thing, he urged that there should 
be a delay of a fortnight. He calculated that by that time the Indians 
would either be safe across the Mexican border or whipped back to the 
reservation ; then he could go out and join with a flourish of trumpets 
and no possible danger. But a new king reigned in the War Depart- 
ment, who knew Joseph rather than knew him not. In some way the 
honorable Secretary had become acquainted with the previous history 
of Captain Noel's campaign services, and, though the influential gen- 
tlemen referred to made prompt and eloquent appeal, they were met by 
courteous but positive denial. “ Every man who was worth his salt," 
said the Secretary, “ should be with his regiment now." An officer 
was designated to proceed at once to the Queen City and take over 
Noel's rendezvous and property, and peremptory orders were sent to 
him to start without delay and to notify the department by telegraph 
of the date of his departure, — a most unusual and stringent proceed- 
ing. This correspondence Noel never mentioned to anybody at the 
time, and it was known only to the official records for some time after- 
wards. As soon as he found that go he must, he dictated to his clerk 
a letter in which, gallant soldier that he was, he informed the Adjutant- 
General that the news from Arizona had now convinced him that an 
outbreak of alarming dimensions had taken place, and he begged that 
he might be relieved as at his own request and permitted to join his 
comrades in the field. To this no reply was sent, as the order directing 
him to proceed had already been issued. Perhaps a grim smile played 
about the moustached lips of that functionary when he read this spirited 
epistle. 


88 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Noel left the Queen City a hero in the eyes of the populat e. He 
was just six days behind Lane, of whose movements the Queen City 
had no information whatever. 

And now came an odd piece of luck, — a slip in the fortunes of war. 
The cavalry stationed in Arizona were so far from the reservation at the 
time that they had long and difficult marches to make. Ouly two or 
three troops that happened to be along the line of the railway reached 
the mountains neighboring San Carlos in time to quickly take the trail 
of the hostiles. Except the one little troop of cavalry on duty at the 
reservation, none of the horsemen in Arizona had as yet come in actual 
conflict with the renegades, and, oddly enough, it was the Eleventh 
that first met and struck them. Old Riggs himself had not taken the 
field, but the battalion from head -quarters had been whirled westward 
along the railway and actually reached the pass through the Chiricahua 
Range before the Indians. Expecting just such a possibility, these 
wary campaigners had their scouts far in advance of the main body, 
and prompt warning was given, so that only the rear-guard of the 
Indians was reached by the eager cavalrymen ; the bulk of the Apaches 
turned eastward and swept down like ravening wolves upon the 
defenceless settlers in the San Simon Valley, burning, murdering, pil- 
laging as they went, full fifty miles a day, while their pursuers trailed 
helplessly behind. When they had succeeded in crossing the railway 
most of their number were mounted on fresh horses, and the section- 
hands, who saw them from afar off, telegraphed from the nearest station 
that they had with them six or eight women and children whose hus- 
bands and fathers doubtless lay weltering in their blood along the route. 
Full seven days now had they been dodging through the mountains 
and swooping down upon the ranchmen, and so skilfully had they 
eluded their pursuers and defeated their combinations that now they 
had a commanding lead and actually nothing between them and 
the Mexican frontier, — nothing in Arizona, that is to say. But look just 
across the border. There, spurring steadily south westward until halted 
for the night in San Simon Pass, comes a little troop of cavalry, not 
more than thirty-five in number. All day long since earliest dawn had 
they ridden across the burning sands of a desert region ; lips, nostrils, 
eyelids smarting with alkali-dust, throats parched with thirst, temples 
throbbing with the intense heat ; several men and horses used up and 
left behind were now slowly plodding back towards the railway. Look 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


89 


at the letter one of those leaders wears upon his worn old scouting-hat, 
— D. Yes, it is the “ Devil’s own D’s,” and Lane is at their head. 

At the moment of the outbreak, both companies from Graham, 
K and D, or strong detachments from both, were scouting through the 
country, — one through the northern Peloncillo Range, the other far up 
among the head- waters of the Gila. Not a word did they hear of the 
trouble until it was several days old ; then D Troop was amazed by 
the sudden appearance of their captain in their midst, — Lane, whom 
they supposed to be on sick-leave far in the distant East. It was then 
for the first time they learned how their comrades of K Troop had lost 
their popular old commander, and that the great outbreak had occurred 
at San Carlos. Stopping only long enough to cram their pouches with 
ammunition and to draw more rations, the troop hastened away towards 
the railroad by way of Graham, and at the station, just at dawn, Lane 
sent a brief despatch to the commanding general saying that he was 
pushing with all speed to head the Indians oif via San Simon Pass. 
He had then forty-five men and horses, in fair condition. K Troop 
would reach Graham that evening, and he urged that they be sent *■ 
once to reinforce him. This despatch “ the Chief” received vr . 
emphatic slap of his thigh and an expression of deligh < -Liess that 
fellow Lane ! he is always in the nick of time. I had not hoped for 
an instant that either D or K would be available, and now look,” he 
said to his aide-de-camp, “ he has started for San Simon Pass, and will 
probably throw himself across their front. Only I wish he had more 
men.” 

“ Shall I wire to Graham to have K rush after him, sir ?” 

“ Yes. Order them to start the instant they can refit, and not to 
take more than an hour in doing that. They have been having easy 
work on their scout, — probably taking it leisurely all the time ; they 
ought to be in first-rate trim. D, on the contrary, has been making 
long and rapid marches to get down from the Upper Gila. Where 
was K at last accounts ?” 

“ Couriers had gone to the Upper Peloncillo for them several days 
ago, and, as Lane says, they are expected at Graham this evening. 
Lane, himself, rode after his own men two hours after he got to the 
post from the East, and Noel, who is K’s new captain, is due at Graham 
Station to-night.” 

“ Then send him orders to lead his troop instantly, follow and sup* 

8 * 


90 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


port Lane. Tell him not to lose a moment on the way. Everything 
may depend upon his promptness and zeal.” 

And so it happened that when Captain Noel stepped from the train 
that afternoon at the old station the telegraph messenger came forward 
to meet him, touching his cap and saying, “ This despatch has been 
awaiting you, sir, since eleven o’clock this morning. I have just had 
a despatch from the post, and K Troop got in two hours ago and is 
already starting. Lieutenant Mason says an orderly is coming ahead 
with a horse and the captain’s field-kit. Shall I wire for anything 
eise?” 

Noel opened the despatch which had been handed him, and read it 
with an expression that plainly indicated perturbation, if not dismay. 
He had not been in saddle for an entire year. 

“ Why, I must go out to the post !” he said to the operator. “ I am 
not at all ready to take the field. Let them know that I have arrived, 
and will come out there without delay. Better have the troop unsaddled 
and wait for my coming.” 

“Will the captain pardon me?” said the operator; “the orders 
from the Department commander that went through this morning were 
that the troop should not take more than an hour in refitting at the 
post and should start at once. I thought I could see them coming 
over the divide just as the whistle blew.” 

The captain’s face gave no sign of enthusiasm as he received this 
news. He was still pondering over the contents of his despatch from 
the commanding general, — its tone was so like that of his order from 
the War Department, — so utterly unlike what his admiring circle of 
relatives and friends would have expected. Stepping into the telegraph- 
office, he took some blanks and strove to compose a despatch that would 
convince the general that he was wild with eagerness to ride all night 
to the support of Lane, and yet that would explain how absolutely 
necessary it was that he should first go out to the post. But the Fates 
were against him. Even as he was gnawing the pencil and cudgelling 
his brains, the operator called out, — 

“ Here come some of ’em now, sir.” 

And, looking nervously from the window, Noel saw three horsemen 
galloping in to the station. Foremost came a lieutenant of infantry, 
who sprang to the ground and tossed the reins to his orderly the instant 
he neared the platform. One of the men had a led horse, completely 
equir ped for the field, with blankets, saddle-bag^ carbine canteen, and 


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91 


haversack ; and Noel’s quick intuition left him no room to believe that 
the steed was intended for any one but him. 

The infantryman came bounding in : “ Is this Captain Noel ? I 
am Mr. Renshaw, post-adjutant, sir, and I had hoped to get here in 
time to meet you on your arrival, but we were all busy getting the troop 
ready. You’ve got your orders, sir, haven’t you? My God! captain, 
can't you wire to the fort and beg the major to let me go with you ? 
I’ll be your slave for a lifetime. I’ve never had a chance to do a bit 
of real campaigning yet, and no man could ask a bullier chance than 
this. Excuse me, sir, I know you want to get right into scouting rig, 
— Mr. Mason said his ‘ extras’ would fit you exactly, — but if you could 
take me along — you’re bound to get there just in time for the thick of 
it.” And the gallant little fellow looked, all eagerness, into Noel’s un- 
responsive face. What wouldn’t the hero of the Queen City Club have 
given to turn the whole thing over to this ambitious young soldier and 
let him take his chances of “ glory or the grave” ! 

“ Very thoughtful of you all, I’m sure, to think of sending horse 
and kit here for me, but I really ought to go out to the post. There 
are things I must attend to. You see, I left the instant I could induce 
them to relieve me, and there was no time to make preparations.” 

“ But — you can’t have heard, captain : your troop will be here in 
ten minutes. Captain Lane by this time is past Pyramid Mountain, 
and will strike them early in the morning. There won’t be any time 
to go out to the post : you’ve got to ride at trot or gallop most of the 
night as it is— — ” 

“ Captain Noel, pardon me, sir,” interposed the operator. “The 
general is in the office at Wilcox Station. He wants to know if you 
have started from here.” 

“ Tell him the troop isn’t here yet. I — I’m waiting for it.” 

“ Yonder comes the troop, sir,” called out Mr. Renshaw, who had 
run to the door. “ Now let me help you off with your ‘ cits.’ Bring 
that canvas bag in here, orderly.” 

Three minutes brought a message from “ the Chief “ Lose not a 
moment on the way. Report here by wire the arrival of your troop 
and the moment you start. Behind time now.” 

Poor Noel ! There was no surgeon to certify that his pallid cheeks 
were due to impaired heart-action, no senatorial cousin to beg for staff 
duty, no Mrs. Riggs to interpose. He had just time to send a despatch 
to Mabel announcing that he took the field at the head of his troop at 


92 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


once, another (collect) to Amo3 Withers, Esq., of similar import, and 
one to the general, saying that at 4.45 they were just on the point of 
Btarting, when the troop, fifty strong and in splendid trim, came trot- 
ting in, and Mr. Mason grimly saluted his new captain and fell back 
to the command of the first platoon. 

“ Noel to the Front !” was the Chronicle's head-line on the follow- 
ing morning far away in the Queen City. 

XIV. 

Not an instant too soon, although he has ridden hard since earliest 
dawn, has Lane reached the rocky pass. North and south the Pelon- 
cillos are shrouded in the gloom of coming night, and all over the arid 
plain to the eastward darkness has settled down. In previous scouts 
he has learned the country well, and he knows just where to turn for 
“ tanks” of cool water for horses, mules, and men, — the cavalry order 
of precedence when creature comforts are to be doled out. He knows 
just where to conceal his little force in the recesses of the rocks and 
let them build tiny fires and make their colfee and then get such rest 
as is possible before the coming day; but there is no rest for him. 
Taking two veteran soldiers with him, and leaving the troop to the 
command of his lieutenant, an enthusiastic young soldier only a year 
out of the cadet gray, the captain rides westward through the gloam- 
ing. He must determine at once whether the Indians are coming to- 
wards the pass by which the San Simon makes its burst through the 
range, or whether, having made wide d&tour around the little post at 
Bowie among the Chiricahua Mountains, they are now heading south- 
ward again and taking the shortest line to the border before seeking to 
regain once more their old trail along the San Bernardino. How often 
have their war-parties gone to and fro along those rocky banks, un- 
molested, unpursued ! 

And now, secure in the belief that they have thrown all the 
cavalry far to the rear in the “ stern-chase” which no Apache dreads, 
well knowing how easily he can distance his hampered pursuers, the 
renegades, joined by a gang of the utterly “ unreconstructed” Chiri- 
cahuas, are taking things easily and making raids on the helpless 
ranches that lie to the right or left of their line of march. For- 
tunately for the records, these are few in number; had there been 
dozens more they would only have served to swell the list of butchered 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


93 


men, of plundered ranches, of burning stacks and corrals, of women 
and children borne off to be the sport of their leisure hours when 
once secure in the fastnesses of the Sierra Madres far south of tht 
line. Death could not too soon come to the relief of these poor creat- 
ures, and Lane and all his men had been spurred to the utmost effort 
by the story of the railway-hands that they had plainly seen several 
women and children bound to the spare animals the renegades drove 
along across the iron track. 

Among the passengers in the pillaged stage-coach were the wife and 
daughter of an Indian agent, who had only recently come to this 
arid Territory and knew little of the ways of its indigenous people. 
Nothing had since been seen or heard of them. Captain Rawlins 
and two soldiers going up as witnesses before a court-martial at Grant 
were found hacked almost beyond recognition, and the driver too, who 
seemed to have crawled out among the rocks to die. Verily the 
Apaches had good reason to revel in their success ! They had 
hoodwinked the Bureau, dodged the cavalry, plundered right and left 
until they were rich with spoil, and now, well to the south of the rail- 
way, with a choice of either east or west side of the range, their main 
body and prisoners are halted to rest the animals, while miles to the 
rear their faithful vedettes keep watch against pursuers, and miles out 
to the west the most active young warriors are crying havoc at the 
ranch of Tres Hermanos. It is the red glare of the flame towards 
the sunset horizon that tells Lane the Apaches cannot be far away. 
The instant he and his comrades issue from the gorge and peer cau 
tiously to the right and left, not only do they see the blaze across the 
wide valley, but northward, not more than half a mile away, there rises 
upon the night- wind a sound that they cannot' mistake, — the war-chant 
of the Chiricahuas. 

“ Thank God,” cries Lane, “ we are here ahead of them !” 

Half an hour’s reconnoissance reveals to him their position. Fai 
up among the boulders of the range, where pursuing horsemen cannot 
rush upon them in the night, they have made their bivouac, and are 
having a revel and feast while awaiting the return of the raiders or news 
from the rear that they must be moving. The range is rugged and pre- 
cipitous north of the gorge ; cavalry cannot penetrate it ; but Lane’s 
plan is quickly laid. He will let his men sleep until two o’clock, keep- 
ing only three sentries on the lookout, one of them mounted and west 
of the gorge to give warning should the Indians move during the night. 


94 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Then, leaving the horses concealed among the rocks south of the stream, 
with two men to guard them, he will lead his company up the heights 
and as close as possible to the Apache camp, lie in hiding until it 
is light enough to distinguish objects, then dash down into their midst, 
rescue the prisoners in the panic and confusion that he knows will result 
from the sudden attack, send them back as rapidly as possible, guided 
by three or four men, to where his horses are corralled, while he and 
his littb band interpose between them and any rally the Apaches may 
make. 

Knowing well that they are armed with magazine rifles and supplied 
by a paternal Bureau with abundant ammunition, knowing that they 
outnumber him three to one, knowing that by sunrise the whole tribe 
will have reassembled and must infallibly detect the pitiful weakness 
of his own force, it is a desperate chance to take ; but it is the only one 
— absolutely the only one — to save those tortured, agonized women, those 
terror-stricken little ones, from a fate more awful than words can portray. 

By eight or nine in the morning, he argues, K Troop must certainly 
reach him ; he knows them to be fresh and strong, he knows that they 
have had only short and easy marches and therefore can easily come 
ahead all night long and be rounding the Pyramid Spur by daybreak. 
He knows Mason well, and can count on that young officer’s doing his 
“ level best” to support him. Alas ! he does not know that Mason is 
compelled by this time to fall back to second place, and that the last 
man on whom he can possibly count “ in a pinch” is now in command 
of the looked-for troop. 

The night wears on without alarm. Well-nigh exhausted, Lane 
has thrown himself at the foot of a tree to catch what sleep he may, 
and he feels as though he had not closed his eyes when Corporal Shea 
bends over him to say it is two o’clock. Noiselessly the men are 
aroused ; silently they roll out of their blankets, and, obedient to the 
low-toned “fall in” of the first sergeant, seize their arms and take 
their place in line. There Lane briefly explains the situation ; tells 
them of the position of the Apache bivouac ; details Corporal Riley 
and four men to search for, secure, and hie away with the prisoners, 
and orders all the rest to fight like the devil to drive the Apaches hel- 
ter-skelter into the rocks. “ Let not one word be said nor a trigger 
pulled until we are right among them. Wait for my command, unless 
we are detected and fired on. If we are, blaze away at once ; but never 
stop your rush : get right in among them. Let Riley and his men make 


TWO SOLDIERS . 


95 


instant search, be sure they leave neither woman nor child behind, and 
start them back here. The rest of us will fall back slowly, keeping be- 
tween them and the Apaches all the time. Never let them get near those 
prisoners. That is the main object of our attack. Once back here with 
the horses, we can pick out places in the rocks from which we can stand 
the Apaches off until K Troop comes. Rest assured Lieutenant Mason 
and his men will be along by eight or nine ; and it cannot be that the 
cavalry now pursuing the Apaches from the north will be more than a 
few hours behind. Now, do you understand ? for there will be no chance 
of orders up there. Leave your canteens ; leave anything that will hinder 
or rattle. Those of you who have on spurs, take them off. Those of 
you who have Tonto or Apache moccasins, take off your top boots and 
put them on ; they are all the better for going up these hill-sides. Now 
get your coffee, men ; make no noise, light no additional fires, and be 
ready to move in twenty minutes.” 

Then he pencils this brief note ; 

“ Commanding Officer Troop K, Eleventh Cavalry : 

“ We have headed the Apaches, and will attack their camp the 
instant it is light enough to see, rescue their captives, then fall back 
here to the gorge of the San Simon. They far outnumber us, and you 
cannot reach us too soon. I count upon your being here by eight in 
the morning, and hope with your aid to hold the enemy until Greene's 
command arrives. Then we ought to capture the whole band. Do 
not fail me, 

“ Frederick Lane, 

“ Captain Eleventh Cavalry” 

This he gives to Sergeant Luce with orders to ride back on the trail 
until he meets K Troop and deliver it to Lieutenant Mason or whoever 
is in command ; and in half an hour Luce m away. 

And now, just as the dawn is breaking and a faint pallid light is 
stealing through the tree-tops along the rocky range, there come creep- 
ing slowly, noiselessly along the slope a score of shadowy forms, crouch- 
ing from boulder to boulder, from tree to tree. Not a word is spoken, 
save now and then a whispered caution. Foremost, carbine in hand, is 
the captain, now halting a moment to give some signal to those nearest 
him, now peering ahead over the rocks that bar the way. At last he 
reaches a point where, looking down the dark and rugged hill-side 
before him, he sees something which causes him to unsling the case 


96 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


in which his field-glasses are carried, to gaze thither long and fixedly. 
With all eyes upon their leader, the men wait and listen : some 
cautiously try the hammers of their carbines and loosen a few car- 
tridges in the loops of their prairie-belts. A signal from Lane brings 
Mr. Royce, the young second lieutenant, to his side. It is the boy's 
first experience of the kind, and his heart is thumping, but he means 
to be one of the foremost in the charge when the time comes. Watching 
closely, the nearest men can see that the captain is pointing out some 
object nearer at hand than they supposed, and the first sergeant, crouch- 
ing to a neighboring rock, looks cautiously over, and then eagerly 
motions to others to join him. 

The Apache hiding-place is not three hundred yards away. 

Down the mountain-side to the west and up the range to the north 
their sentries keep vigilant guard against surprise ; but what man of 
their number dreams for an instant that on the south, between them 
and the Mexican line, there is now closing in to the attack a little troop 
of veteran campaigners, led by a man whom they have learned to dread 
before now ? Invisible from the valley below or the heights up the 
range, their smouldering fires can be plainly seen from where Lane 
and his men are now concealed. But nothing else can be distinguished. 

Far over to the western side of the valley the faint red glow tells 
where lie the ruins of the ranch their young warriors have destroyed, 
and any moment now their exultant yells may be heard as they come 
scampering back to camp after a night of deviltry, and then everybody 
will be up and moving off and well on the way southward before the 
sun gets over the crest. Lane knows he must make his dash before 
they can return. There would be little hope of rescue for the poor 
souls lying there bound and helpless, with all those fierce young fighters 
close at hand. 

The word is passed among the men : “ Follow closely, but look 
well to your footing. Dislodge no stones." Then, slowly and stealth- 
ily as before, on they go, — this time down the hill towards the faint 
lights of the Indian bivouac. A hundred yards more, and Lane holds 
up his hand, a signal to halt ; and here he gives Mr. Royce a few 
instructions in a low tone. The youngster nods his head and mutters 
to several of the men as he passes, “ Follow me." They disappear 
among the rocks and trees to the right, and it is evident that they mean 
So work around to the east of the bivouac, so as to partially encircle 
them. Little by little the wan light grows brighter, and, close at hand, 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


97 


objects far more distinct. An Indian is just passing in front of the 
nearest blaze, and is lost in the gloom among the stunted trees. One 
or two forms are moving about, but they can only dimly be distin- 
guished. Lane argues, however, that they are getting ready to move, 
and no time is to be lost. 

“ Spread out now,” is the order, “ well to the right and left, and 
move forward. Be very careful.” And once more they resume their 
eat-like advance. Nearer and nearer they creep upon the unsuspecting 
foe, and soon many a form of sleeping Apache can be made out, lying 
around in the grassy basin in which they are hiding for the night. 
Lane motions to Corporal Riley to come close to his side: “ I can 
see nothing that looks like prisoners : they must be among the trees 
there, where that farthest fire is burning. Keep close to me with 
your men. Pass the word to the right, there. All ready.” 

And now they are so near the Indians that the voices of one or two 
squaws can be heard chatting in low tones ; then the feeble wail of an 
infant is for a moment brought to their straining ears ; then far out 
over the level valley to the west there is a sound that causes Lane’s 
blood to tingle, — faint, distant, but unmistakable, — a chorus of Apache 
yells. The raiders are coming back : it is time to strike the blow. 
Now or never, seems to be the word as the men glance at their leader 
and then into each other’s faces. 

“ Forward ! no shot, no sound, till they see us ; then cheer like mad 
as you charge ! Come on, men !” 

Quickly now following his lead, they go leaping down the hill-side. 
Thirty — fifty yards without mishap or discovery. Sixty, and still no 
sound from the defence ; then a sudden stumble, the rattle of a carbine 
sliding down the rocks, a muttered execration ; then a shrill, piercing 
scream from the midst of the bivouac ; then 

“ Charge !” 

In they go ! — the “ Devil’s own D’s.” The still air rings with 
their wild hurrahs and the crash of their carbines. The flame-jets 
light up the savage scene and show squaws and screaming children 
rushing for shelter among the rocks ; Apache warriors springing from 
the ground, some manfully facing the rush of the foe, others fleeing 
like women down the hill-side. Never halting an instant, the soldiers 
dash through the camp, driving the dusky occupants helter-skelter. 
Lane finds himself confronted one instant by a savage warrior whose 
eyes gleam like tiger’s under the thatch of coarse black hair, and whose 
R 9 


98 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


teeth gnash in fury as he tries to force a fresh cartridge into his breech- 
loader. No time for Lane to reload. He clubs his carbine, and the 
hammer comes crashing down on the Indian’s skull just as Corporal 
Riley drives a bullet through his heart. 

“ Look to the captives, man !” shouts Lane. “ Don’t follow me ! 
Drive them ! drive them, Royce !” are his ringing orders, as he him- 
self dashes on past the fires and into the feeble morning light 
beyond. 

Bang ! bang ! the carbines are ringing through the rocks and trees ; 
cheer upon cheer goes up from the little command, mingled with Indian 
yells and the screams of the terrified children. 

“ Riley’s got ’em, sir,” he hears his boy-trumpeter call. " Some of 
’em, anyhow. There’s two white women.” 

“ Never mind, lad,” he answers. “ Don’t sound the recall till I 
tell you.” 

And again his ringing voice is heard among the tumult : “ For- 
ward ! forward ! drive them ! keep them on the run, men I” 

And so for five minutes longer, firing whenever a savage head 
appears, inflicting and receiving many a savage blow, but still victo- 
riously forcing their way onward, the little band follow their leader 
down the rocks until apparently not an Apache is left in the immediate 
neighborhood of the old camp. Then at last the trumpet peak out its 
signal-recall. 

And slowly and steadily, watchfully guarding against the possi- 
bility of leaving some wounded comrade among the rocks, th? little 
command finally gathers once more around the fires in the 

Riley and his men have disappeared. A shout from the rocks 
in the well-known Irish voice gives the glad intelligence that he has 
brought with him all the prisoners he could find in camp. 

“ There are three women, sir, and two little children. — two girls ; 
they’re so frightened that I can hardly find out muck from them, but 
they say there was no more left.” 

“ Very well, then. Now, men, open out right and left, and fall 
back very slowly. Sergeant, take six of the men and move up so as 
to be close to Riley in case they attack from the flank. Are we all here ? 
Are any wounded or hurt ?” He asks the question with a little stream 
of blood trickling down from his left temple, but of which he seems 
perfectly unaware : either an arrow or a bullet has torn the skin and 
made quite a furrow through the hair. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


S3 


ff Murphy, sir,” says one of the men, “ is shot through the arm, and 
Lathrop has got a bullet in the leg ; but they’re only flesh-wounds : 
Lhey’re lying here just back of us.” 

Lane turns about, and finds two of his men looking a little pale, 
but perfectly plucky and self-possessed. “ We’ll get you along all right, 
men,” he says ; “ don’t worry. — Now, lads, turn about every ten or 
fifteen steps, and see that they don’t get close upon you. Look well to 
the left.” 

Then slowly they fall back towards the pass. Every now and then 
a shot comes whizzing by, as the Apaches regain courage and creep up 
to their abandoned camp. But not until they are well back over the 
ridge, and Riley and his little party, fairly carrying their rescued cap- 
tives, are nearly out of harm’s way, do the scattered warriors begin to 
realize how few in number their assailants must be. Rallying shouts 
can be heard among the rocks, and then there come the thunder of 
hoofs out on the plain below and the answering yells of the returning 
raiders. 

“ Run to Corporal Riley and tell him to make all the haste he can,” 
Lane orders his trumpeter. “ Tell him to get back to the horses, and 
then, as soon as he has left his women in a safe place there, to throw 
up stone shelters wherever it is possible. — Royce, you look out for 
this front. I will go to the left. If any of your men are hit, have 
them picked up and moved rapidly to the rear; of course we can’t 
leave any wounded to fall into their hands ; but, where possible, keep 
your men under cover ; and keep under yourself, sir : don’t let me 
see you exposing yourself unnecessarily, as I did a while ago.” 

And once again the retreat is resumed. Lane looks anxiously 
among the rocks down the hill to his left, every instant expecting to see 
the young braves hurrying to the assault. But now, as though in 
obedience to the signals of some leader, the Apaches cease their pursuit. 
Lane well knows that the matter is not yet concluded, but is thankful 
for the respite. Still warily his little force continues the withdrawal, 
and, without further molestation, reaches the gorge of the San Simon, 
and soon comes in sight of the dip among the rocks where the horses 
are still hidden. Here, too, Corporal Riley and his men are busily at 
work heaping up little breastworks of rock, and Lane directs that while 
the wounded — there are three now — are carried down to where the 
rescued women and children are lying, the other men fall to and help. 
In five minutes there are over a score of them at work, and not one 


100 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


instant too soon. Corporal Donnelly, who has been posted, mounted 
at the western entrance to the defile, comes clattering in to say that at 
least a hundred Indians are swarming down the ridge. 

And now the fight that opens is one in which the odds are greatly 
against the defenders. Lane has just time to climb to the height on 
the east and take one long look with his glasses over the fiats beyond 
the pass, praying for a sight of a dust-cloud towards the Pyramid Spur, 
when with simultaneous crash of musketry and chorus of yells the 
Apaches come sweeping down to the attack. 


XV. 

Meantime, where are the looked-for supports ? Lane, with wearied 
horses, had made the march from the railway-station to the pass in a 
little over fourteen hours. It was 5.30 when he started and 8.15 when 
he unsaddled among the rocks. He had come through the blazing sun- 
shine of the long June day ; sometimes at the trot, sometimes at the 
lope, ofttimes dismounting and leading when crossing ridges or ravines. 
He was still pale and weak from his long illness, and suffering from a 
sorrow that had robbed him of all the buoyancy he had ever possessed. 
But the sense of duty was as strong as ever, and the soldier-spirit 
triumphed over the ills of the flesh. 

Noel, starting at 4.45 p.m., with horses and men fresh and eager, 
with a guide who knew every inch of the way, and the bright starlight 
to cheer his comrades, could reasonably be expected to cover the same 
ground in the same time ; every old cavalryman knows that horses travel 
better by night than by day. By good rights he and his men should 
be at the pass at least an hour before the time set by Lane. It was only 
a week before that the captain had declared at the “ Queen City” that 
he had never felt so “ fit” in his life and a campaign would just su : t 
him. Things seemed to have a different color, however, as he watched 
the going down of the sun behind the distant Peloncillos. The words 
of the young infantry adjutant kept recurring to him, and he knew of 
old that when Lane started after Indians he was “ dead sure to get 
’em,” as Mr. Mason was good enough to remind him. 

Twice before sunset the guide had ventured to suggest a quicker 
gait, but Noel refused, saying that he did not mean to get his horses 
to the scene worn out and unfit for pursuit. Mr. Mason, who heard 
this, begged to remind the captain that pursuit was not the object : 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


101 

they were expected to get there in time to help Lane head off the 
attempt at further flight, and to hold the Apaches, wherever met, until 
the pursuing force could reach them from the north and hem them in. 
Noel ranked Mason only a few files and knew well that all the regi- 
ment would side with his subaltern : so he was forced to a show of cor- 
diality and consideration. He rode by the lieutenant’s side, assuring 
him of the sense of strength it gave him to have with him a man of 
such experience. “ For your sake, Mason, I wish I had been twelve 
hours later, so that you could have had the glory of this thing to your- 
self ; but you know I couldn’t stand it. I had to pull wires like sin to 
get relieved, as it was. Old Hudson, the head of the recruiting-service, 
just swore he wouldn’t let me go, because I had had good luck in the 
class and number of the recruits I sent him. Personally, too, I’m in 
no shape to ride. See how fat I’ve grown ?” 

Mason saw, but said a fifty-mile ride ought not to stagger any cavalry- 
man, hard or soft, and made no reply whatever to the captain’s account 
of how he succeeded in getting relieved. He didn’t believe a word of it. 

Night came on and found them still marching at steady walk. 
Halts for rest, too, had been frequently ordered, and at last Mason 
could stand it no longer. After repeated looks at his watch, he had 
burst out with an earnest appeal : 

u Captain Noel, we’ll never get there in time at this rate. Surely, 
sir, the orders you got from the general must be different from those 
that came to the post. They said, make all speed, lose not a moment. 
Did not yours say so too ?” 

“ The general knew very well that I had marched cavalry too often 
not to understand just how to get there in time,” was Noel’s stately 
reply ; and, though chafing inwardly, Mason was compelled to silence. 
Ten o’clock came, and still it was no better. Then both the lieutenant 
and the guide, after a moment’s consultation during a rest, approached 
the captain and begged him to increase the gait; and when they 
mounted, the command did, for a while, move on at a jog, which 
Mason would fain have increased to the lope, but Noel interposed. 
Midnight, and more rests, found them fully ten miles behind the point 
where the guide and the lieutenant had planned to be. Even the men 
had begun to murmur among themselves, and to contrast the captain’s 
spiritless advance with Mr. Mason’s lively methods. Two o’clock, 
and the Pyramid Range was still far away. Daybreak came, and Mason 
was nearly mad with misery, the guide sullen and disgusted. Broad 


102 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


daylight,— six o’clock,— and here at last were the Pyramid Buttes at 
their right front, and, coming towards them on the trail, a single horse- 
man. “ It is Sergeant Luce,” said some of the foremost troopers. 

And Luce had a note, which he handed to Lieutenant Mason ; but 
that gentleman shook his head and indicated Noel. The captain took 
it in silence, opened it, glanced over the contents, changed color, as all 
could see, and then inquired, — 

“ How far is it, sergeant ?” 

“ It must be fifteen miles from here, sir. I came slowly, because 
my horse was worn out, and because Captain Lane thought that I 
would meet the troop very much nearer the pass. It’s more than 
fifteen miles, I reckon.” 

“ Had the attack begun before you left ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; and I could hear the shots as I came out of the pass, — 
hear them distinctly.” 

“ May I inquire what ths news is, captain ?” said Mr. Mason, riding 
up to his side. 

“ Well,” was the reply, “ Lane writes that he has headed the Apaches, 
and that he is just moving in to the attack. 

“ Will you permit me to see the note, sir ?” said Mason, trembling 
with exasperation at the indifferent manner in which it was received. 

Noel hesitated : “ Presently, — presently, Mr. Mason. We’ll move 
forward at a trot, now.” 

Sergeant Luce reined about, and, riding beside the first sergeant of 
K Troop, told him in low tones of the adventures of the previous day 
and night, and the fact that the Apaches were there just north of the 
pass and in complete force. The result seemed to be, as the word was 
passed among the men, to increase the gait to such an extent that they 
crowded upon the leaders, and Noel, time and again, threw up his hand 
and warned the men not to ride over the heels of his horse. 

Seven o’clock came, and still they had not got beyond the Pyramids. 
Eight o’clock, and they were not in sight of the pass. Nine o’clock, 
and still the gorge was not in view. It was not until nearly ten that 
the massive gate-way seemed to open before them, and then, far to the 
front, their eager ears could catch the sound of sharp and rapid firing. 

“ My God !” said Mason, with irrepressible excitement, “ there’s no 
question about it, captain, Lane’s surrounded there ! For heaven’s sake, 
sir, let’s get ahead to his support.” 

“ Bide forward, sergeant,” said Noel to Luce, “ and show us the 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


103 


shortest way you know to where Captain Lane has corralled his horses. 
— I don’t like the idea of entering that pass in column, Mr. Mason. The 
only safe way to do it will be to dismount and throw a line of skir- 
mishers ahead. If Lane is surrounded, the Apaches undoubtedly will 
open fire on us as we pass through.” 

“ Suppose they do, sir : we’ve got men enough to drive them back. 
What we want is to get through there as quickly as possible.” 

But Noel shook his head, and, forming line to the front at a trot, 
moved forward a few hundred yards, and then, to the intense disgust 
of Mr. Mason, ordered the first platoon dismounted and pushed ahead 
as skirmishers. Compelled to leave their horses with number four of 
each set, the other troopers, sullenly, but in disciplined silence, advanced 
afoot up the gentle slope which led to the heights on the right of the 
gorge. 

Not a shot impeded their advance ; not a sound told them that they 
were even watched. But far up through the pass itself the sound of 
sharp firing continued, and every now and then a shrill yell indicated 
that the Apaches were evidently having the best of it. 

Again Mason rode to his captain. “ I beg you, sir,” he said, 
“ to let me take my platoon, or the other one, and charge through 
there. It isn’t possible that they can knock more than one or two of 
us out of the saddle ; and if you follow with the rest of the men they 
can easily be taken care of.” But Noel this time rebuked him. 

“ Mr. Mason, I have had too much of your interference,” he said, 
u and I will tolerate no more. I am in command of this troop, sir, 
and I am responsible for its proper conduct.” 

And Mason, rebuffed, fell back without further word. 

The pass was reached, and still not a shot had been fired. Over 
the low ridge the dismounted troopers went, and not an Apache was in 
sight. Then at last it became evident that to cross the stream they 
would have to ford ; and then the “ recall” was sounded, the horses 
were run rapidly forward to the skirmish-line, the men swung into 
saddle, the rear platoon closed on the one in front, and cautiously, with 
Mason leading and Noel hanging back a little as though to direct the 
march of his column, the troop passed through the river and came out 
on the other side. The moment they reached the bank, Mason struck a 
trot without any orders, and the men followed him. 

Noel hastened forward, shouting out, “ Walk, walk.” But, finding 
that they either did not or would not hear him, he galloped in front of 


104 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


the troop, and sternly ordered the leaders to decrease their gait and not 
again to take the trot unless he gave the command. 

Just at this minute, from the heights to the right and left, half a 
dozen shots were fired in quick succession ; a trooper riding beside the 
first sergeant threw up his arms, with the sudden cry, “ My God ! I've 
got it ! ” and fell back from the saddle. Noel at the same instant felt a 
twinge along his left arm, and, wheeling his horse about, shouted, “ To 
the rear ! to the rear ! We’re ambushed !” And, despite the rallying 
cry of Mason and the entreaties of the guide, the men, taking the cue 
from their leader, reined to the right and left about and went clattering 
out of the pass. 

More shots came from the Apaches, some aimed at the fleeing troop 
and others at the little group of men that remained behind ; for the 
poor fellow who had been shot through the breast lay insensible by 
the side of the stream, and would have been abandoned to his fate but 
for the courage and devotion of Mason and two of the leading men. 
Promptly jumping from their horses, they raised him between them, 
and, laying him across the pommel of one of the saddles, supported by 
the troopers, the wounded man was carried back to the ford, and from 
there out of harm’s way. 

By this time Noel, at full gallop, had gone four or five hundred 
yards to the rear, and there the first sergeant — not he — rallied the troop, 
reformed it, counted fours, and faced it to the front. 

When Mason returned to them, leading the two troopers and the 
dying man, his face was as black as a thunder-cloud. He rode up to 
his captain, who was stanching with a handkerchief a little stream of 
blood that seemed to be coming down his left arm, and addressed to 
him these words : 

“Captain Noel, there were not more than six or eight Apaches 
guarding those heights. There was no excuse in God’s world, sir, for 
a retreat. I can take my platoon and go through there now without 
difficulty, and once again, sir, I implore you to let me do it.” 

Noel’s reply was, “ I have already heard too much from you to-day, 
Mr. Mason. If I hear one more word, you go to the rear in arrest. I 
am wounded, sir, but I will not turn over this command to you.” 

“ Wounded be hanged ! Captain Noel, you’ve got a scratch of 
which a child ought to be ashamed,” was the furious reply, upon which 
Noel, considering that he must at all hazards preserve the dignity of 
his position, ordered Lieutenant Mason to consider himself in arrest. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


105 


And, dismounting, and calling to one or two of the men to assist him, 
the captain got out of his blouse and had the sleeve of his under-shirt 
cut off, and then, in full hearing of the combat up the pass, proceeded 
to have a scratch, as Mason had truly designated it, stanched and 
dressed. 

Meantime, the troop, shamefaced and disgusted, dismounted and 
awaited further developments. For fifteen minutes they remained 
there, listening to the battle a mile away, and then there came a sound 
that thrilled every man with excitement, — with mad longing to dash to 
the front : there came crashes of musketry that told of the arrival of 
strong reinforcements for one party or another, — which party was soon 
developed by the glorious, ringing cheers that they well recognized tc 
be those of their comrades of Greene's battalion. 

“ By heavens !" said Mason, with a groan, “ after all, we have lost 
our chance ! It's Greene, not old K Troop, that got there in time to 
save them." 

The looks that were cast towards their new captain by the men, 
standing in sullen silence at their horses' heads, were not those that any 
soldier would have envied. 

Directing the first sergeant to take half a dozen troopers and feel 
their way cautiously to the front and ascertain what that new sound 
meant, the rest of the men meanwhile to remain at ease, Noel still sat 
there on the ground, as though faint from loss of blood. The bleed- 
ing, however, had been too trifling to admit of any such supposition 
on the part of those who had been looking on. The cheering up the 
pass increased. The firing rapidly died away. Soon it was seen that 
the first sergeant was signalling, and presently a man came riding back. 
The sergeant and the others disappeared, going fearlessly into the pass, 
and evidently indicating by their movements that they anticipated no 
further resistance. The arriving horseman dismounted, saluted the 
captain, and reported substantially that the pass was now in posses- 
sion of Major Greene's men, and that the Apaches were in full flight 
towards the south, some of the troops pursuing. 

Then at last it was that the “ mount" was sounded by the trumpeter, 
and half an hour afterwards — full three hours after they should have 
been there — Captain Noel with K Troop arrived at the scene. Lane, 
taint from loss of blood, was lying under a tree ; four of his men were 
killed ; one of the helpless recaptured women had been shot by an In- 
dian bullet ; five more of the “ Devil's own D's" were lying wounded 


106 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


around among the rocks. Desperate had been the defence ; sore had 
been their need ; safe, thoroughly safe, they would have been had Noel 
got there in time ; but it was Greene’s battalion that finally reached 
them only at the last moment. And yet this was the thrilling announce- 
ment that appeared in the Queen City Chronicle in its morning edition, 
two days afterwards : 

u Gallant Noel ! Rescue of the Indian Captives ! Stirring Pursuit 
and Fierce Battle with the Apaches ! 

“ A despatch received last night by the Hon. Amos Withers an- 
nounces the return from the front of Captain Noel, who so recently left 
our midst, with a portion of his troop, bringing with him the women 
and children who had been run off by the Apaches on their raid among 
the ranches south of their reservation. The captain reports a severe 
fight, in which many of the regiment were killed and wounded, he 
himself, though making light of the matter, receiving a bullet through 
the left arm. 

“ While the rest of the command had gone on in pursuit of the 
Apaches, the captain was sent by the battalion commander to escort 
the captives back to the railway. 

“ This despatch, though of a private character, is fully substantiated 
by the official report of the general commanding the department to the 
Adjutant-General of the army. It reads as follows : 

“ ‘ Captain Noel, of the Eleventh Cavalry, has just reached the 
railway, bringing with him all but one of the women and children 
whom the Apaches had carried off into captivity. The other was shot 
by a bullet in the desperate fight which occurred in San Simon Pass 
between the commands of Captains Lane and Noel and the Apaches, 
whose retreat they were endeavoring to head off. Greene’s battalion 
of the Eleventh arrived in time to take part; but on their appear- 
ance the Apaches fled through the mountains in the wildest confusion, 
leaving much of their plunder behind them. 

“ 1 It is impossible as yet to give accurate accounts of the killed 
and wounded, but our losses are reported to have been heavy.’ 

“ How thoroughly have the predictions of the Chronicle with regard 
to this gallant officer been fulfilled ! To his relatives and his many 
friends in our midst the Chronicle extends its most hearty congratula- 
tions. We predict that the welcome which Captain Noel will receive 
will be all that his fondest dreams could possibly have cherished.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


107 


XVI. 

For a week the story of Gordon Noel’s heroism was the talk of 
vjueen City society. He had led the charge upon the Indians after a 
pursuit of over a hundred miles through the desert. He had fought 
his way to the cave in which those poor captive women were guarded, 
and had himself cut the thongs that bound them. He was painfully 
wounded, but never quit the fight till the last savage was driven from 
the field. For daring and brilliant conduct he was to be promoted 
over the heads of all the captains in his regiment. His name was 
already before the President for a vacancy in the Adjutant-General’s 
Department, and the appointment would be announced at once. He 
was coming East just as soon as the surgeon said he was well enough 
to travel. Mrs. Noel wanted to join him, but he had telegraphed 
saying no, that he would soon be with her. 

So rang the chorus for several days. At the club the men shook 
hands over the news, and sent telegrams of praise and congratulation 
to Noel, and drank his health in bumpers ; and two or three “ old sore- 
heads,” who ventured to point out that the official reports were not yet 
in, were pooh-poohed and put down. 

Amos Withers had left for Washington on a midnight train im- 
mediately after furnishing the Chronicle with the contents of his de- 
spatch, making no allusion to that part of it which said, “ Now push 
for that vacancy. Not an instant must be lost.” Nobody could say 
nay to the man who had subscribed the heaviest sum to the campaign 
fund in his own State, and therefore both its Senators and half its 
representatives in the House went with him to the President to urge 
the immediate nomination of Captain Noel to the majority in the Ad- 
jutant-General’s Department made vacant by the promotion consequent 
upon the retirement of one of its oldest members. Already the War 
Department had furnished the Executive with the names and records 
of the four men whom it considered most deserving, and Gordon Noel’s 
name was not one of the four. But what was that in comparison with 
the eminent pecuniary and political services of Mr. Withers, when the 
nephew had just behaved so superbly in action ? 

Meantime, the Apaches had scattered through the mountains and 
escaped across the border, the remnant of Lane’s troop taking part in 
the pursuit, and they, with their commander, only slowly returning to 
the railway. For three or four days Noel had the wires and the corre> 


108 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


spondents pretty much to himself ; but then some of those enterprising 
news-gatherers had been getting particulars from the men, and there 
were two or three of K Troop in the detachment who could not conceal 
their derision and contempt when the newspaper-men spoke of the 
bravery of their captain. This set the correspondents to ferreting, and 
then the despatches began to take a different color. The very day that 
Mabel received her first letter from her husband, and was reading ex- 
tracts from it to envious friends who had come in to swell the chorus 
of jubilee and congratulation, an evening paper intimated that recent 
despatches received from the seat of war revealed a different state of 
affairs than was popularly supposed. 

But by this time interest was waning. It is the first impression 
that is always the strongest, the first story that is longest remembered, 
and no man who has believed one version will accept the truth without 
vigorous resistance. In his letter to his wife, Noel had spoken modestly 
of himself and slightingly of his wounds. This only made her wor- 
ship him — her hero, her gallant Gordon — the more insanely. He inti- 
mated that he had been compelled to place in arrest one of the promi- 
nent officers of the regiment for misconduct in the face of the enemy ; 
and this and 'previous matters , he said, would surely make of this officer 
an unrelenting foe. She need not be surprised, therefore, if this gen- 
tleman should strive to do him grievous harm. Mabel blushed be- 
comingly as she read these lines to some of her friends, and that night 
at the club it was hinted that Lane had been placed in close arrest for 
failing to support Noel in his desperate assault. Just at this time, too, 
Mr. Withers came back from Washington, looking mysterious. 

The next published despatches were from the general himself. He 
was incensed over the escape of the Apaches. Measures for the capture 
were complete, and it was broadly hinted that a certain officer would be 
brought to trial for his failure to carry out positive orders. 

“ It is believed,” said the Chronicle y “ that the officer referred to is 
well known in our community, as he had, oddly enough, been a prede- 
cessor in the recruiting-service of the actual hero of the campaign.” 

Two weeks went by. There was no announcement of Noel's name 
as promoted. Other matters occupied the attention of the club and the 
coteries, and no one knew just what it all meant when it was announced 
that Mrs. Noel had suddenly left for the frontier to join her husband. 
Perhaps his wounds were more severe than at first reported. Then it 
was noticed that Mr. Withers was in a very nervous and irritable frame 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


109 


of mind, that constant despatches were passing between him and Cap- 
tain Noel in the West, and that suddenly he departed again on some 
mysterious errand for Washington. And then it was announced that 
Captain Noel would not be able to visit the East as had been expected. 

All the same it came as a shock which completely devastated the 
social circles of the Queen City when it was announced in the New 
York and Chicago papers that a general court-martial had been ordered 
to assemble at Fort Gregg, New Mexico, for the trial of Captain Gor- 
don Noel, Eleventh Cavalry, on charges of misbehavior in the face of 
the enemy, and conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. 

The Chronicle made no allusion to the matter until after it was 
heralded over the city by the other journals. Then it announced that 
it was in possession of information showing conclusively that Captain 
Noel was the victim of the envy of certain officers in his regiment, and 
that the charges had been trumped up from the false and prejudiced 
statement of the man whom he had been compelled to place in arrest 
for misconduct in action. “ Captain Noel had demanded a court- 
martial,” said the Chronicle , “ that he might be triumphantly vindi- 
cated, as he undoubtedly would be.” 

At the club several men surrounded Lieutenant Bowen with eager 
inquiry as to the facts in the case. Bowen, who was now in charge of 
the rendezvous as NoePs successor, was very reticent when interrogated. 
He said that while an officer might demand a court of inquiry, he could 
not demand a court-martial ; they were entirely different things ; and it 
was certainly the latter that had been ordered. 

“ Was there not some likelihood of malice and envy being at the 
bottom of the charges ?” he was asked. “ And was it not unfair to let 
him be tried by officers prejudiced against him ?” 

Bowen said he did not belong to the Eleventh, but he knew it well 
enough to say no to the first part of the question. As to the other, 
there were only two officers from that regiment on the court, and one 
was NoePs old friend and colonel, — Biggs. 

It was in the midst of this talk that Mr. Amos Withers had sud- 
denly appeared and begged a few words in private with Mr. Bowen. 

Withers was in a state of nervous excitement, as any one could 
see. He talked eagerly, even pleadingly, with the silent lieutenant and 
at last suddenly arose and, with the look of a defeated and discomfited 
man, left the club-house, entered his carriage, and was driven rapidly 
away. 


10 


110 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


That night an officer from the War Department arrived in the 
Qaeen City, and was closeted for a while with Lieutenant Bowen, after 
which the two went to the Chief of Police, and, in company with him, 
visited the cell where Taintor, deserter and forger, was confined, took 
his statement and that of the Chief, and with these documents the 
officer went on to division head-quarters. 

Meantime, the campaign had come to an end. Captain Noel had 
reported, in arrest, to the commanding officer at Fort Gregg, and Mrs, 
Riggs had tearfully greeted him : “ She would so love to have him 
under her roof, that she might show her sympathy and friendship ; but 
so many officers of high rank were coming on the court that the colonel 
was compelled to give every bit of room he had to them.” Noel 
thanked her nervously, and said he could be comfortable anywhere, but 
his wife was coming : she had telegraphed that she could not be sepa- 
rated from him when he was suffering wrong and outrage. Captain 
and Mrs. Lowndes, moved to instant sympathy, begged that he would 
make their quarters his home, and placed their best room at his dis- 
posal. 

Two evenings afterwards he was permitted to go himself to the rail- 
way to meet poor Mabel, who threw herself into his arms and almost 
sobbed her heart out at sight of his now haggard and care-worn face. 
Mrs. Lowndes then came forward and strove to comfort her, while 
Noel rushed off to send some telegrams. Then they drove out to the 
post, and Mabel's spirits partially revived when she found that it was 
not a prison she had come to share with her husband. Everybody was 
so gentle and kind to her, she began to believe there was nothing very 
serious in the matter, after all. 

It lacked yet five days to the meeting of the court, and in the inter- 
vening time there arrived at the post a prominent and distinguished 
lawyer from the East, sent to conduct the defence by Mr. Withers’s 
orders; and many a long talk did he hold with his client and the 
officers who were gathering at Gregg. 

The charges of misconduct in face of the enemy had been preferred 
by the Department commander, who cited as his witnesses Captain 
Lane, Lieutenant Mason, Lieutenant Royce, the guide, and two or 
three non-commissioned officers. To the charge of “ conduct unbecom- 
ing an officer and a gentleman ” there were specifications setting forth 
that he had caused to be circulated and published reports to the effeot 
that it was his command that had been severely engaged, and his com- 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Ill 


mand that had rescued the captives and defeated the Indians, which 
statements he well knew to be false. Two or three correspondents and 
railway employees and the telegraph operator were witnesses. This 
would be a hard one to prove affirmatively, as the judge-advocate found 
when he examined his witnesses as they arrived, and the great lawyer 
assured the accused officer that he could secure him an acquittal on that 
charge. The real danger lay in the testimony of Captain Lane and 
Lieutenant Mason, who had not yet come. 

And now, hour after hour, for two days, Mabel was reading in her 
husband’s face the utter hopelessness that possessed him ; nay, more, 
the truth was being revealed to her in all its damning details. It 
might be impossible for the prosecution to prove that he had actually 
caused the false and boastful stories to be given to the press and the 
public ; but how about the telegrams and letters Mr. Withers had so 
proudly come to show her ? How about the telegrams and letters she 
herself had received ? What impression could she derive from them 
but that he was the hero of the whole affair, and that he was lying 
painfully wounded when he wrote ? The gash through the beautiful 
white arm turned out to be a mere scratch upon the skin, that a pin 
might have made. It was Greene’s command from Fort Graham that 
had rescued Lane, and Lane with his men who had rescued the cap- 
tives, and then fought so hard, so desperately, against such fearful odds, 
and sustained their greatest losses, while her hero, — her Gordon, — with 
nearly fifty men, was held only a mile away by half a dozen ragamuf- 
fins in the rocks. She had almost adored him, believing him godlike 
in courage and magnanimity ; but now on every side the real facts were 
coming to light, and she even wrung them from his reluctant lips. And 
yet — and yet — he was her husband, and she loved him. 

Again and again did she question Mr. Falconer, the eminent counsel, 
as to the possibilities. This gentleman had fought all through the war 
of the rebellion, and had won high commendation for bravery. He 
had taken the case because he believed, on Withers’s statement, that 
Noel was a wronged and injured man, and because, possibly, a fee of 
phenomenal proportion could be looked for. He met among the old 
captains of the Eleventh men whom he had known in Virginia in the 
war-days, and learned from them what Noel’s real reputation was, and, 
beyond peradventure, how he had shirked and played the coward in 
the last campaign : so that he, who had known Mabel Vincent from 
her babyhood and loved her old father, now shrank from the sorrow of 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


in 


having to tell her the truth. Yet she demanded it, and he had to say 
that her husband’s fate hinged on the evidence that might be given by 
Captain Lane and Mr. Mason. 

That very night these two officers arrived, together with three mem 
bers of the court. The following day at ten o’clock the court was to 
begin its session, and four of its members were still to come. That 
night Mr. Falconer and her husband were closeted with several men in 
succession, seeking evidence for the defence. That night there came a 
despatch from Withers saying he had done his best in Washington, but 
that it seemed improbable that the President would interfere and accept 
Noel’s resignation from the service. 

Noel showed this to Mabel and sank upon the sofa with a groan 
of despair. 

“ Oh, my darling !” she whispered, kneeling by his side and throwing 
her arms about his neck, “ don’t give way ! There must be hope yet ! 
They cannot prove such cruel charges ! There must be a way of 
averting this trouble.” 

“ There is one,” said he, starting up. “ There is one, if you will 
only do it to save me.” 

“ What would I not do to save you, Gordon?” she asked, though 
her face was paling now with awful dread of what the demand 
might be. 

“ Mabel, my wife, it is to see — him at once. There is nothing that 
he will not do for you. I know it — for I know what he has done. 
See him. You know what to say. I cannot prompt you. But get 
him to tell as little as he possibly can in regard to this case.” 

“ Gordon !” she cried, “ you ask me to do this, after the great 
wrong I did him ?” 

“ There is no other way,” was the sullen answer. And he turned 
moodily from her side, leaving her stunned, speechless. 


f 


XVII. 

Somewhere about ten o’clock that night the judge-advocate of the 
court dropped in at the “ bachelor quarters,” where both Lane and 
Mason had been made welcome, and asked to see those gentlemen. He 
was conversing with them over the affair at the San Simon, when Cap- 
tain Lowndes was ushered into the room. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


113 


(t Am I intruding ?” asked the latter. “ I merely wished to speak 
to Lane a moment.” 

“ By no means, Lowndes. Come right in. We’ll be through in 
one minute. — Then, as I understand you, Lane, you could distinctly 
see K Troop as it forded the stream, and could see the Apaches who 
fired upon them ?” 

u Yes, — distinctly. I was praying for their coming, as our ammuni- 
tion was running low. The Indians seemed so encouraged by the ease 
with which they drove them back that the whole band swarmed out 
from cover and crowded on us at once. It was in the next fifteen 
minutes that my men were killed, — and that poor woman.” 

“ And there were only six Indians who opened fire on Noel ?” 

“ Only six, sir.” 

The judge-advocate was silent a moment. “ There is, of course, a 
chance that our absentees may get here to-morrow morning in time. 
If they do, you will be the first witness called ; if they do not, we ad- 
journ to await their arrival. It promises to be a long case. A tele- 
gram has just reached me, saying that additional and grave charges are 
being sent by mail from division head-quarters.” 

Captain Lowndes listened to this brief conversation with an expres- 
sion of deep perplexity on his kindly face, and as soon as the judge- 
advocate had gone and Mason had left the room he turned to Lane : 

“ You know they are staying with us. That poor girl has come 
all this weary journey to be with him, and there was absolutely no 
place where she could lay her head unless we opened our doors and 
took him in too.” 

Lane bowed assent : “ I had heard, Lowndes. It was like you and 
that dear wife of yours.” 

“ Lane,” spoke the older man, impetuously, after a moment of em- 
barrassed silence, “ I want you to do something for my wife, and for 
me. Come home with me for a few minutes. You won’t see him ; 
but — it is that heart-broken girl. She begs that you will see her, — 
to-night. Here is a little note.” 

Lane’s sad face had grown deathly pale. He looked wonderingly 
in his companion’s eyes a moment, then slowly took the note and left 
the room, leaving Lowndes to pace the floor in much disquiet. 

In five minutes the former reappeared in the door- way. “ Come,” 
he said, and himself led the way out into the starlit night. Not a 
word was spoken by either man as they slowly walked down the row. 

10 * 


114 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Arriving at his quarters, Captain Lowndes ushered his friend into the 
little army parlor, and Mrs. Lowndes came forward, extending both her 
hands. “ It is good of you to come,” she said. “ I will let her know, 
at once.” 

Two shaded lamps cast a soft, subdued light over the simply-fur- 
nished little room. What a contrast to the sumptuous surroundings 
of the home in which he had last met her ! Lane stood by the little 
work-table a moment, striving to subdue the violent beating of his 
heart and the tremors that shook his frame. Not once had he seen her 
since that wretched night in the library, — in that man Noel’s arms. 
Not once had he permitted the thought of seeing her to find a lodge- 
ment. But all was different now : she was well-nigh crushed, heart- 
broken ; she had been deceived and tricked ; she was here practically 
friendless. “ I well know that at your hands I deserve no such mercy,” 
she had written, “ but a hopeless woman begs that you will come to 
her for a few moments, — for a very few words.” 

And now he heard her foot-fall on the stairs. She entered, slowly, 
and then stopped short almost at the threshold. Heavens ! how he 
had aged and changed ! How deep were the lines about the kind gray 
eyes ! how sad and worn was the stern, soldierly face ! Her eyes filled 
with tears on the very instant, and she hovered there, irresolute, not 
knowing what to do, how to address him. It was Lane that came to 
the rescue. For a moment he stood there appalled as his eyes fell upon 
the woman whom he had so utterly — so faithfully loved. Where was 
all the playful light that so thrilled and bewitched him as it flickered 
about the corners of her pretty mouth ? Whither had fled the bright 
coloring, the radiance, the gladness, that lived in that exquisite face ? 
Was this heavy-eyed, pallid, nerveless being, standing with hanging 
head before him, the peerless queen he had so loyally and devotedly 
served, — whose faintest wish was to him a royal mandate, — to kiss 
whose soft white hand was a joy unutterable ? All this flashed through 
his mind in the instant of her irresolute pause. Then the great pity 
of a strong and manful heart, the tenderness that lives ever in the 
bravest, sent him forward to her side. All thought of self and suffer- 
ing, of treachery and concealment and deception, vanished at once at 
the sight of her bitter woe. His own brave eyes filled up with tears 
he would gladly have hidden, but that she saw, and was comforted. 
He took her limp, nerveless hand and led her to a chair, saying only 
her name, — “ Mrs. Noel.” 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


115 


For several minutes she could not speak, but wept unrestrainedly, 
he, poor fellow, walking the floor the while, longing to comfort her, 
yet powerless. What could he say ? What could he do ? At last she 
seemed to regain her self-control. 

“ Captain Lane,” she said, “ it is useless for me to tell you how 
much I have learned, since coming here, of which I was ignorant before. 
Every effort has been made to spare me ; people have been so considerate 
and kind, that the truth, as I am beginning to see, has been kept from 
me. Mr. Falconer, Captain Noel’s — our lawyer, has at last admitted that 
almost everything depends upon your evidence. Forgive me, if you 
can, that I believed for a while that you inspired the charges against 
him. I know now that you refused to press the matter, and that — that 
I am not to blame any one. In his deep misfortune my duty is with 
my husband, and he — consented that I should see you. Captain Lane,” 
she said, rising as she spoke, “ do not try to spare my feelings now. I 
am prepared for anything, — ready to share his downfall. If you are 
asked as to the contents of the note you sent him just before the fight, 
must you tell what they were ? Do you recall them ?” 

“ I must, Mrs. Noel. I remember almost the exact words,” he 
replied, gently, sorrowfully. 

“ But that is all, is it not ? You know nothing more about the 
delay in reaching you ?” And her eyes, piteous in entreaty, in shame, 
in suffering, sought one instant his sad face, then fell before the sorrow 
and sympathy in his. 

For a moment there was no answer ; and at last she looked up, 
alarmed. 

“ Mrs. Noel,” he said, “ I could not help it. I was eagerly await- 
ing their coming. I saw them approach the ford and the pass. I saw 
that there were only six Apaches to resist them ; and the next thing I 
saw was the retreat.” 

“ Oh, Captain Lane !” she cried, “ must you testify as to this ?” 
And her trembling hands were clasped in misery. “ Is there no way, 
— no way?” 

“ Even if there were,” he answered, slowly and mournfully, “ Mr. 
Mason’s testimony and that of the men would be still more conclusive.” 

Throwing herself upon the sofa, the poor girl gave way to a fit 
of uncontrollable weeping ; and Lane stood helplessly, miserably by. 
Once he strove to speak, but she could not listen. He brought her a 
glass of water presently and begged her to drink it : there was still 


116 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


something he had to suggest. She took the goblet from his hand and 
looked up eagerly through her tears. He was thinking only of her — 
for her — now. The man who had robbed him of happiness, of love, 
of wife and home and hope, and who had done the utmost that he 
dared to rob him of honor and his soldier reputation, — the man now 
wretchedly listening overhead to the murmur of voices below, — he 
forgot entirely except as the man she loved. 

“ Mrs. Noel, your friends — his friends — are most influential. Can 
they not be telegraphed to that his resignation will be tendered ? Can 
they not stop the trial in that way ?” 

“ It is hopeless. It has been tried, and refused. If he is found 
guilty there is nothing left, — nothing left,” she moaned, “ but to take 
him back to the East with me, and, with the little we have now, to buy 
some quiet home in the country, where our wretched past need not be 
known, — where we can be forgotten, — where my poor husband need not 
have to hang his head in shame. Oh, God ! oh, God ! what a ruined 
life!” 

“ Is there nothing I ccm do for you, Mrs. Noel ? Listen : that court 
cannot begin the — the case to-morrow. Four members are still to 
come. It may be two days yet, — perhaps three. Perhaps Mr. Withers 
and his friends do not appreciate the danger and have not brought 
pressure to bear on the President, but — forgive me for the pain this 
must give you — there are other, new charges coming from division 
head-quarters, that I fear will harm him still more. I grieve to have 
to tell you this. Try and make Mr. Withers understand. Try and get 
the resignation through. If you will see Mr. Falconer and — and the 
captain now, I can get the telegraph operator.” 

“ What charges — what new accusations do you mean ?” she asked, 
her eyes dilating with dread. “ Are we not crushed enough already ? 
Oh, forgive me, Captain Lane ! I ought not to speak bitterly, you — 
you have been so good, so gentle. You, the last man on earth from 
whom I should seek mercy,” she broke forth impetuously, — “ you are 
yet the one to whom I first appeal. Oh, if after this night I never see 
you again, believe that I suffer, that I realize the wrong I have done. 
I was never worthy the faintest atom of your regard ; but there’s one 
thing — one thing you must hear. I wrote you fully, frankly, im- 
ploringly, before— -before you came — and saw. Indeed, indeed, I had 
waited days for your reply, refusing to see him until after papa died ; 
and then I was weak and ill. You never read the letter. You sent 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


117 


them all back unopened. I cannot look in your face. It may have 
been hard, for a while, but the time will soon come when you will 
thank God — thank God — I proved faithless.” 

And then, leaving him to make his own way from the house, she 
rushed sobbing to her room. When next he saw her, Reginald, her 
brother, with Lowndes and his tearful wife, was lifting her into the 
ambulance that was to take them to the railway, and the doctor rode 
away beside them. But this was ten days after. 

True to Lane’s prediction, the court met and adjourned on the 
following day. Colonel Stannard and Major Turner telegraphed that 
they were delayed en route to the railway, and nothing was heard from 
the other missing members. Two days more found the court in readi- 
ness, but the trial did not begin. There arrived on the express from 
the East, the night before all seemed ready for the opening session, 
Lieutenant Bowen, of the cavalry recruiting-service, with two guards 
who escorted the ex-clerk Taintor. 

Telegrams for Captain Noel had been coming in quick succession, 
but he himself was not seen. It was Lowndes who took the replies 
to the office. The first meeting of the court was to have occurred on 
Monday. Tuesday evening the judge-advocate sent to the accused 
officer a copy of the additional specifications to the charge of conduct 
unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, and notified him that the wit- 
nesses had just arrived by train. 

At four o’clock Wednesday morning Mrs. Lowndes was aroused by 
a tapping at her door, and recognized the voice of Mrs. Noel calling 
her name. Hastily she arose and went to her, finding her trembling 
and terrified. Gordon, she said, had been in such misery that he would 
not undress and try to sleep, but had been restlessly pacing the floor until 
after midnight. Then he had gone down to make some memoranda, 
he said, at the desk in which he and Mr. Falconer had their papers, 
and, as she could not sleep, she soon followed ; but he was not there. 
Occasionally he had gone out late at night and walked about the parade 
after every one but the guard had gone to bed, and she thought he 
must have done so this time, and so waited, and waited, and peered 
out on the parade and could see nothing of him. At last she could 
bear it no longer. 

Lowndes had heard the sobbing voice and one or two words. He 
was up and dressed in no time, and speedily found the officer of the 


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day. “ Do you think he could have made away with himself? — 
suicide ?” 

“ Suicide ! no !” answered Lieutenant Tracy. “ He’s too big ? 
coward even for that !” 

No sentry had seen or heard anything of him. The whole post 
was searched at daybreak, and without success. A neighboring settle- 
ment, infested by miners, stock-men, gamblers, and fugitives from jus- 
tice, was visited, but nothing was learned that would tend to dispel the 
mystery. One or two hard citizens — saloon-proprietors — poked their 
tongues in their cheeks and intimated that “ if properly approached” 
they could give valuable information ; but no one believed them. That 
night, deserted and well-nigh distracted, Mabel Noel lay moaning in 
her little room, suffering heaven only knows what tortures ; far from 
the yearning mother arms, far from home and kindred, far even from 
the recreant husband for whose poor sake she had abandoned all to fol- 
low him, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness or in 
health, — only to be left to the pity and care of strangers. 

But she was in an army home and among loving, loyal, simple 
hearts. The women, one and all, thronged to the little cottage, im- 
ploring that they might “ help in some way.” The men, when they 
were not damning the runaway, were full of suggestion as to the course 
to be pursued. Mabel would accept only one explanation of his dis- 
appearance : crazed by misfortunes, he had taken his own life ; he had 
said he would. But the regiment could not believe it, and in forty- 
eight hours had traced him, on the saloon-keeper’s horse, over to the 
Southern Pacific, and thence down to El Paso. More than one man 
gave a sigh of relief that the whole thing could be so easily settled with- 
out the scandal of all that evidence being published to the world. The 
court met and adjourned pending the receipt of orders from the con- 
vening authority. The telegraph speedily directed the return to their 
stations of the several members. Lieutenant Bowen went back to the 
East, leaving Taintor in the guard-house, and in a week Reginald Vin- 
cent came to take his sister home and to whisper that Gordon was safe 
in the city of Mexico, — Mr. Withers was sending him money there ; 
and so from her bed of illness, suffering, and humiliation the poor girl 
was almost carried to her train, and all Fort Gregg could have wept at 
sight of her wan and hopeless face. 

She shrank from seeing or meeting any of her old associates, yet 
was eager to reach her mother’s roof, fondly believing that there she 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


119 


would find letters from her husband. It hurt her inexpressibly that 
he should have fled without one word to her of his intentions ; but she 
could forgive it because of the suffering and misery that bore him down 
and unsettled his mind. It stung her that Mr. Withers, not she, 
should be the first to learn of his place of refuge; but perhaps he 
thought she had gone East at once, and so had written there. She 
attributed his desertion to the strain to which he had been subjected ; 
but she had been spared the sight of those last “ specifications.” Her 
first inquiry, after one long, blessed clasping in her mother’s arms, after 
the burst of tears that could not be restrained, was for letters from 
him ; and she was amazed, incredulous, when told there were none. 
Mr. Withers was sent for at once : that eminent citizen would gladly 
have dodged the ordeal, but could not. He could only say that two 
telegrams and two drafts had reached him from Noel, and that he had 
honored the latter at sight and would see that he lacked for nothing. 

She would have insisted on going to join him in his exile, but he 
had sent no word or line ; he had ignored her entirely. He might be 
ill, was the first thought ; but Mr. Withers assured her he was phys- 
ically perfectly well. “ Everything is being done now to quietly end 
the trouble,” said Mr. Withers. “ We will see to it at Washington that 
his resignation is now accepted ; for they will never get him before a 
court, and might as well make up their minds to it. They cannot drop 
or dismiss him for a year, with all their red-tape methods and their 
prate about the * honor of the service.’ I’ve seen enough of the army 
in the last three months to convince me it’s no place for a gentleman. 
No, my dear, you stay here, — or go up to the mountains. We’ll have 
him there to join you in a month.” 

But the authorities proved obdurate. Even the millionaire failed 
to move the War Secretary. Unless Captain Noel came back and stood 
trial, he would be “ dropped for desertion” (“ and, if he came back 
and stood trial, would probably be kicked out as a coward and liar,” 
thonght to himself the official who sat a silent listener). This Noel 
would not do. Withers sent him to Vera Cruz on a pseudo business- 
visit, and Mabel, silent, sad-faced, but weeping no more, went to a 
little resort in the West Virginia mountains. 

Meantime, another court had been convened, another deserter tried, 
convicted, and sentenced, and before being taken to prison he made full 
statement to Captain Lane and two officers called in as witnesses. This 
was Taintor. He had known Captain Noel ever since his entry into 


120 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


service. Taintor was an expert penman, a gambler, and at times a hard 
drinker. He had enlisted in the troop of which Noel was second lieu- 
tenant while they were in Tennessee, and had deserted, after forging 
the post-quartermaster’s name to two checks and getting the money 
The regiment went to the Plains : he was never apprehended, and long 
years afterwards drifted from a position in the quartermaster’s d6p6t at 
Jeffersonville to a re-enlistment and a billet as clerk in the recruiting 
rendezvous at the Queen City. Knowing that Noel would recognize 
him, he deserted there, as has been told, taking all the money he could 
secure by forged checks for small amounts which he trusted would not 
excite suspicion. But he had fallen in love with a young woman, and 
she was dependent on him. He came back to the neighborhood after 
he thought the hue and cry was over, was shadowed and arrested by 
the police, and had given himself up for lost when Captain Noel was 
brought to his cell to identify him. He could hardly believe his senses 
when the captain said it was all a mistake. Then he was released, and 
went to work again across the river, and one night Noel came, — told 
him he knew him perfectly and would keep his secret provided he 
would “make himself useful.” It soon turned out that what was 
wanted was the imitation of Captain Lane’s signature on one or two 
papers whose contents he did not see, and the type-writing of some 
letters, one of which, without signature of any kind, and referring to 
some young lady, her secret meetings with Captain Noel, and saying, 
“ You are being betrayed,” was sent to Captain Lane at Fort Graham. 
Very soon after this Captain Lane came back. Taintor again fled until 
he knew his old commander had gone away, and then, venturing home, 
was rearrested, as has also been told. 

Lane knew the anonymous letter well enough, but now for the first 
time saw its object. It was to make him accuse Mabel Vincent of 
deceit and faithlessness and so bring about a rupture of the engagement 
which, at that time, Noel saw no other means of removing as the one 
obstacle that stood in the way of his hopes. 

But what were the other papers ? 

August came, and with it the rumors of the appearance of the 
dreaded v6mito at Vera Cruz ; but in the remote and peaceful nook 
where mother and daughter — two silent aud sorrowing women — were 
living in retirement, no tidings came. Vainly Mabel watched the 
mails for letters — if only one — from him. She had written under 
cover to Mr. Withers, but even that evoked no reply. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


121 


One sunshiny afternoon they were startled by the sudden arrival 
of Regy. He sought to avoid question and to draw his mother to one 
side, but Mabel was upon him. 

“ You have news !” she said, her white face set, her hands firmly 
seizing his arm. “ What is it ? Have they dismissed him ?” 

“ They can never dismiss — never harm him more, Mabel,” was the 
solemn answer. 

********* 

Some months afterwards Mrs. Vincent received a packet of papers 
that belonged to the late Captain Noel. Mabel had been sent to 
Florida for the winter, and was spending her early widowhood with 
kind and loving friends. The consul at Vera Cruz had written to 
Mr. Withers full particulars of his cousin’s death, — one of the first 
victims of the vdmito , — and had sent these papers with the formal cer- 
tificates of the Mexican officials. Mr. Woodrow, one of the executors 
of Mr. Vincent’s estate, showed singular desire to examine these papers, 
but the widow thought they should be opened only by her daughter. 
It was not until then that, with much hesitancy, the gentleman explained 
that Mr. Vincent had given him to understand that he had intrusted 
some papers to Captain Noel which that officer had promised to send at 
once to his old friend Captain Lane. Mrs. Vincent could learn no 
more from him, but she lost no time in searching the packet. 

Within twenty-four hours Mabel was summoned home by tele- 
graph, and there for the first time learned that to her father’s partner, 
for the use of the firm in their sore straits of nearly two years before, 
Captain Lane had given the sum of fifteen thousand dollars, and that 
among Captain Noel’s papers was what purported to be a receipt in full 
for the return of the sum from Mr. Vincent, which receipt was signed 
apparently by Frederick Lane and dated July 2, 188-. But this, 
said Mr. Woodrow, must be a mistake : Mr. Vincent had assured him 
late in July that he had not repaid it, but that Clark had his instruc- 
tions to repay it at once, and all Clark’s books, papers, and receipts had 
been examined, and showed that no such payment had been made. 

" It simply means that the very roof under which we are sheltered 
is not ours, but that noble fellow’s,” said Mrs. Vincent; and that night 
she wrote, and poured forth her heart to him, while Mabel locked her- 
self in her room. 

No answer came. Then Mr. Woodrow made inquiries of the 
officer at the rendezvous, and learned that Captain Lane had gone to 

F 11 


122 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


Europe with leave of absence for a year ; and there her letter followed 
him. She demanded, as a right, to know the truth. She had given the 
executors to understand that the debt must be paid, if they had to sell 
the old homestead to do it. She would be glad to go and live in 
retirement anywhere. 

Not only did she, but so did Mr. Woodrow, receive at last a letter 
from distant Athens. The widow sobbed and laughed and pressed 
her letter to her heart, while Woodrow read his with moistened eyes, 
a suspicious resort to his cambric handkerchief, and an impatient con- 
signment of all such confounded quixotic, unbusinesslike cavalrymen 
to — to the deuce, by Jupiter ; and then he went off to show it to his 
fellow-executors. 

The long summer wore away. Autumn again found mother and 
daughter and Regy at the dear old home, but light and laughter had 
not been known within the massive walls since the father’s death. The 
tragedy in Mabel’s life, coming so quickly after that event, seemed to 
have left room for naught but mourning. “She has so aged, so 
changed,” wrote Mrs. Vincent on one of the few occasions when she 
wrote of her at all to him, and she wrote every month. “ I could even 
say that it has improved her. The old gayety and joyousness are gone, 
and with them the wilfulness. She thinks more — lives more — for 
others now.” 

Winter came again, — the second winter of Mabel’s widowhood, — 
and she was urged to visit the Noels at their distant home ; but she 
seemed reluctant until her mother bade her go. She was still wearing 
her widow’s weeds, and her lovely face was never sweeter in her girl- 
hood days than now in that frame of crape. Of the brief months of 
her married life they never spoke, but the Noels loved her because of 
her devotion to him when not a friend was left. In early March the 
news from home began to give her uneasiness : “ mamma did not seem 
well,” was the explanation, and it was decided that they would go on 
as far as Washington with her, and spend a day or two there, when 
Reginald would meet and escort her home. 

And so, one bright morning in that most uncertain of months, 
Mabel Noel with her sister-in-law and that lady’s husband stood at the 
elevator landing, waiting to be taken down to the hall- way of their hotel. 
Presently the lighted cage came sliding from aloft. Mrs. Lanier entered, 
followed by the others. Two gentlemen seated on one side removed 
their hats, and the next instant, before she could take her seat, the lady 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


123 


saw one of them rise, bow, and extend his hand to Mabel, saying, 
with no little embarrassment and much access of color, something to 
the effect that this was a great surprise, — a statement which her fair 
sister-in-law evidently could find no words to contradict, even had she 
desired so to do. Neither of the two seemed to think of any others 
who were present. Indeed, there was hardly time to ask or answer 
questions before they had to step out and give place to people desiring 
to ascend; and then the gentleman nearly tumbled over a chair in 
the awkwardness of his adieu. Mrs. Noel’s face was averted as they 
left the hall, but all the more was Mrs. Lanier desirous of questioning : 

" Who was your friend, Mabel ?” 

And Mabel had to turn or be ungracious. Her face was glowing 
as she answered, simply, — 

“Captain Lane.” 

An hour later Mrs. Lanier said to her husband, — 

“ That was the man to whom she was said to be engaged before 
Gordon ; and did you see her face?” 

Once again they met, — this time at the entrance to the dining-room ; 
and there Captain Lane bowed gravely to “ my sister, Mrs. Lanier, — 
Mr. Lanier,” when he was presented. The lady seemed distant and 
chilling. The man held out his hand and said, “ I’m glad to know 
you, captain. I wish you could dine with us.” But Lane had dined, 
and was going out. 

The third day came, and no Reginald. Expecting him every mo- 
ment, Mabel declined to go with her friends on a shopping-tour, and 
was seated in her room, thinking, when there came a tap at the door : 
a card for Mrs. Noel, and the gentleman begged to see her in the parlor. 
Her color heightened as she read the name. Her heart beat flutteringly 
as she descended the stairs. He was standing close by the door, but 
he took her hand and led her to the window at their right. 

“ You have news — from mamma !” she cried. “ Tell me — instantly !” 

“ Mr. Woodrow thinks it best that you should come, Mrs. Noel ; 
and she has sent for me. Reginald went directly West last night. 
Will you trust yourself to my care ? and can you be ready for the next 
train ? — in two hours ?” 

Ready ! She could go instantly. Was there no train sooner? She 
implored him to tell if her mother’s illness was fatal. He could only 
say that Mrs. Vincent had been quite suddenly seized ; and yet they 


124 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


hoped she would rally. Mabel wept unrestrainedly, upbraiding herself 
bitterly for her dilatory journey ; but she was ready, and had gained 
composure when it was time to start. Mrs. Lanier's farewell was 
somewhat strained, but the captain seemed to notice nothing. 

Unobtrusively, yet carefully, he watched over her on the home- 
ward way. Tenderly he lifted her to the pavement of the familiar 
old dep6t, where Regy met them. Mamma was better, but very feeble. 
She wanted to see them both. 

Three days the gentle spirit lingered. Thrice did the loving woman 
send for Lane, and, holding his hand in hers, whisper blessing and 
prayerful charge as to the future. Regy wondered what it could all 
mean. Mabel, on her knees in her own little room, pleading for her 
devoted mother's life, knew well how to the very last that mother 
clung to him, but only vaguely did she reason why. 

At last the solemn moment came, and the hush of twilight, the 
placid, painless close of a pure and gracious life, were broken only by 
the sobbing of her kneeling children and of the little knot of friends 
who, dearly loving, were with her at the gate into the new and radiant 
world beyond. 

One soft spring evening a few weeks later Mabel stood by the 
window in the old library, an open letter in her hand. Twice had she 
looked at the clock upon the mantel, and it was late when Frederick 
Lane appeared. Mr. Woodrow had unexpectedly detained him, he ex- 
plained, but now nothing remained but to say good-by to her. His 
leave was up. The old troop was waiting for him. 

“ Will you try to do as I asked you, and write to me once in a 
while ?” he said. 

“ I will. It was mother's wish." But her head sank lower as she 
spoke. 

“ I know," he replied. “ For almost a year past she had written 
regularly to me, and I shall miss it — more than I can say. And now 
— it is good-by. God bless you, Mabel !" 

And still she stood, inert, passive, her eyes downcast, her bosom 
rapidly rising and falling under its mourning garb. He took her 
hand and held it lingeringly one minute, then turned slowly away. 

At the portiere he stopped for one last look. She was still standing 
there, drooping. The fair head seemed bowing lower and lower, the 
white hands were clasping nervously. 


TWO SOLDIERS. 


125 


“ Do you know you have not said good-by, Mabel ?” 

She is bending like the lily now, turning away to hide the rush of 
tears. Only faintly does he catch the whispered words, — 

“ Oh ! I cannot !” 



U* 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 






DUNRAYBN RANCH. 


I. 

I T was nearly midnight, and still the gay party lingered on the ve- 
randa. There had been a fortnight of “ getting settled” at the 
new post, preceded by a month of marching that had brought the 
battalion from distant service to this strange, Texan station. The new- 
comers had been hospitably welcomed by the officers of the little gar- 
rison of infantry, and now, in recognition of their many courtesies, the 
field-officer commanding the arriving troops had been entertaining the 
resident officers and ladies at dinner. The colonel was a host in him- 
self, but preferred not to draw too heavily on his reserves of anecdote 
and small-talk, so he had called in two of his subalterns to assist in the 
pleasant duty of being attentive to the infantry ladies, and just now, 
at 11.45 P.M., he was wondering if Lieutenant Perry had not too liter- 
ally -construed his instructions, for that young gentleman was devoting 
himself to Mrs. Belknap in a manner so marked as to make the cap- 
tain, her lawful lord and master, manifestly uneasy. 

Mrs. Belknap, however, seemed to enjoy the situation immensely. 
She was a pretty woman at most times, as even her rivals admitted. 
She was a beautiful woman at all times, was the verdict of the officers 
of the regiment when they happened to speak of the matter among 
themselves. She was dark, with lustrous eyes and sweeping lashes, 
with coral lips and much luxuriance of tress, and a way of glancing 
sideways from under her heavily-fringed eyelids that the younger and 
more impressionable men found quite irresistible when accorded the 
rare luxury of a ttte-ci-tete. Belknap was a big and boisterous man ; 
Mrs. Belknap was small in stature, and soft — very soft — of voice. Bel- 
knap was either brusquely repellent or oppressively cordial in manner ; 
Mrs. Belknap was either gently and exasperatingly indifferent to those 
whom she did not care to attract, or caressingly sweet to those whose 
F* 129 


130 


DVNRAVEN RANCH. 


attentions she desired. In their own regiment the young officers soon 
found that unless they wished to be involved in an unpleasantness with 
Belknap it was best to be only very moderately devoted to his pretty wife, 
and those to whom an unpleasantness with the big captain might have 
had no terrors of consequence were deterred by the fact that Mrs. Bel- 
knap’s devotee among the “ youngsters” had invariably become an 
object of coldness and aversion to the other dames and damsels of the 
garrison. Very short-lived, therefore, had been the little flirtations 
that sprang up from time to time in those frontier posts wherein Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Belknap were among the chief ornaments of society ; 
but now matters seemed to be taking other shape. From the very day 
that handsome Ned Perry dismounted in front of Belknap’s quarters 
and with his soldierly salute reported to the then commanding officer 
that Colonel Brainard and his battalion of cavalry would arrive in 
the course of two or three hours, Mrs. Belknap had evinced a con- 
tentment in his society and assumed an air of quasi-proprietorship that 
served to annoy her garrison sisters more than a little. For the time 
being all the cavalrymen were bachelors, either by actual rank or “ by 
brevet,” as none of the ladies of the — th accompanied the battalion on 
its march, and none were expected until the stations of the regiment in 
its new department had been definitely settled. The post surgeon, too, 
was living a life of single blessedness as the early spring wore on, for 
his good wife had betaken herself, with the children, to the distant East 
as soon as the disappearance of the winter’s snows rendered staging 
over the hard prairie roads a matter of no great danger or discom- 
fort. 

It was the doctor himself who, seated in an easy-chair at the end 
of the veranda, first called the colonel’s attention to Perry’s devotional 
attitude at Mrs. Belknap’s side. She was reclining in a hammock, one 
little, slippered foot occasionally touching the floor and imparting a 
gentle, swinging motion to the affair, and making a soothing swish- 
swish of skirts along the matting underneath. Her jewelled hands 
looked very slender and fragile and white as they gleamed in the soft 
light that shone from the open windows of the parlor. They were 
busied in straightening out the kinks in the gold cord of his forage-cap 
and in rearranging a little silken braid and tassel that was fastened in 
clumsy, man-like fashion to one of the buttons at the side ; he, seated 
in a camp-chair, was bending forward so that his handsome, shapely 
head was only a trifle higher than hers, and the two — hers so dark 


DVNRAVEN RANCH. 


131 


and rich in coloring, his so fair and massive and strong — came rather 
too close together for the equanimity of Captain Belknap, who had 
essayed to take a hand at whist in the parlor. One or two of the 
ladies, also, were silent observers of the scene, — silent as to the scene 
because, being in conversation at the time with brother officers of Lieu- 
tenant Perry, they were uncertain as yet how comments on his grow- 
ing flirtation might be received. That their eyes should occasionally 
wander towards the hammock and then glance with sympathetic signifi- 
cance at those of some fair ally and intimate was natural enough. But 
when it became presently apparent that Mrs. Belknap was actually unfast- 
ening the little silken braid that had hung on Ned Perry’s cap ever sinoe 
the day of his arrival, — all the while, too, looking shyly up in his eyes 
as her fingers worked ; when it was seen that she presently detached it 
from the button and then, half hesitatingly, but evidently in compli- 
ance with his wishes, handed it to him ; when he was seen to toss it 
carelessly — even contemptuously — away and then bend down lower, as 
though gazing into her shaded eyes, — Mrs. Lawrence could stand it no 
longer. 

“ Mr. Graham,” said she, “ isn’t your friend Mr. Perry something 
of a flirt ?” 

“ Who ? — Ned ?” asked Mr. Graham, in well- feigned amaze and 
with sudden glance towards the object of the inquiry. “ How on earth 
should I know anything about it ? Of course you do not seek expert 
testimony in asking me. He tries, I suppose, to adapt himself to cir- 
cumstances. But why do you ask ?” 

“ Because I see that he has been inducing Mrs. Belknap to take off 
that little tassel on the button of his cap. He has worn it when oif 
duty ever since he came ; and we supposed it was something he cher- 
ished ; I know she did.” 

Graham broke forth in a peal of merry laughter, but gave no furthei 
reply, for just then the colonel and the doctor left their chairs, and, 
sauntering over to the hammock, brought mighty relief to Belknap at 
the whist-table and vexation of spirit to his pretty wife. The flirta- 
tion was broken up at a most interesting point, and Perry, rising sud- 
denly, came over and joined Mrs. Lawrence. 

If she expected to see him piqued or annoyed at the interruption 
and somewhat perturbed in manner, she was greatly mistaken. Nothing 
could have been more sunshiny and jovial than the greeting he gave 
her. A laughing apology to Graham for spoiling his Ute-d-tHe was 


132 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


accomplished in a moment, and then down by her side he sat and 
plunged into a merry description of his experiences at dinner, where 
lie had been placed next to the chaplain’s wife on the one hand, and 
she had been properly aggrieved at his attentions to Mrs. Belknap on 
the other. 

“ You must remember that Mrs. Wells is a very strict Presbyterian, 
Mr. Perry ; and, for that matter, none of us have seen a dinner such 
as the colonel gave us this evening for ever and ever so long. We are 
quite unused to the ways of civilization ; whereas you have just come 
from the East — and long leave. Perhaps it is the fashion to be all 
devotion to one’s next-door neighbor ?.t dinner.” 

“Not if she be as repellent and venerable as Mrs. Wells, I assure 
you. Why, I thought she would have been glad to leave the table 
when, after having refused sherry and Pontet-Canet for upwards of an 
hour, her glass was filled with champagne when she happened to be 
looking the other way.’’ 

“It is the first dinner of the kind she has ever seen here, Mr. 
Perr} T , and I don’t suppose either Mr. or Mrs. Wells has been up so 
late before in years. He would have enjoyed staying and watching 
whist, but she carried him off almost as soon as we left the table. 
Our society has been very dull, you know, — only ourselves at the post 
all this last year, and nobody outside of it.” 

“One would suppose that with all this magnificent cattle-range 
there would be some congenial people ranching near you. Are there 
none at all ?” 

“ Absolutely none ! There are some ranches down in the Washita 
country, but only one fine one near us ; and that might as well be on 
the other side of the Atlantic. No one from there ever comes here ; 
and Dr. Quin is the only living soul in the garrison who ever got 
within the walls of that ranch. What he saw there he positively 
refuses to tell, despite all our entreaty.” 

“ You don’t tell me there’s a ranch with a mystery here near 
Rossiter !” exclaimed Mr. Perry, with sudden interest. 

“ Why, I do, indeed ! Is it possible you have been here two whole 
weeks and haven’t heard of Dunraven Ranch ?” 

“ I’ve heard there was such a thing ; I saw it from a distance when 
out hunting the other day. But what’s the mystery ?— what’s the 
matter with it ?” 

“ That’s what we all want to know, — and cannot find out. Now, 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


133 


there is an exploit worthy your energy and best efforts, Mr. Perry. 
There is a big, wealthy, well-stocked ranch, the finest homestead build- 
ings, we are told, in all this part of Texas. They say it is beautifully 
furnished, — that it has a fine library, a grand piano, all manner of 
things indicative of culture and refinement among its occupants, — but 
the owner only comes around once or twice a year, and is an iceberg 
of an Englishman. All the people about the ranch are English, too, 
and the most repellent, boorish, discourteous lot of men you ever saw. 
When the Eleventh were here they did everything they could to be 
-civil to them, but not an invitation would they accept, not one would 
they extend ; and so from that day to this none of the officers have 
had any intercourse with the people at the ranch, and the soldiers 
know very little more. Once or twice a year some very ordinary look- 
ing men arrive who are said to be very distinguished people — in 
England ; but they remain only a little while, and go away as suddenly 
as they came.” 

“ And you have never seen any of them ?” 

“ Never, except at a distance. Nor has any one of the officers, 
except Dr. Quin.” 

“ And you have never heard anything about the inmates and why 
they keep up this policy of exclusiveness ?” 

“ We have heard all manner of things, — some of them wildly 
romantic, some mysteriously tragic, and all of them, probably, absurd 
At all events, Captain Lawrence has told me he did not wish me to 
repeat what I had heard, or to be concerned in any way with the 
stories afloat: so you must ask somebody else. Try the doctor. To 
change the subject, Mr. Perry, I see you have lost that mysterious 
little silken braid and tassel you wore on your cap-button. 1 fancied 
there was some romance attached to it, and now it is gone.” 

Perry laughed, his blue eyes twinkling with fun : “ If I will tell 
you how and where I got that tassel, will you tell me what you have 
heard about Dunraven Ranch ?” 

“I cannot, unless Captain Lawrence withdraws his prohibition. 
Perhaps he will, though ; for I think it was only because he was tired 
of hearing all our conjectures and theories.” 

u Well, will you tell me if I can induce the captain to say he has 
uo objection?” persisted Perry. 

“ I will to-morrow, — if you will tell me about the tassel to* 
night.” 


12 


134 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


“'Is it a positive promise ? — You will tell me to-morrow all you 
have heard about Dunraven Ranch if I will tell you to-night all I 
know about the tassel ?” 

“ Yes, — a promise.” 

“ Very well, then. You are a witness to the compact, Graham. 
Now for my confession. I have worn that tassel ever since our 
parting ball at Fort Riley. That is to say, it has been fastened to 
that button ever since the ball until to-night; but I’ve been mighty 
careful not to wear that cap on any kind of duty.” 

“ And yet you let Mrs. Belknap take it off to-night ?” 

“ Why shouldn’t I ? There was no sentiment whatever attached 
to it. I haven’t the faintest idej whose it was, and only tied it there 
for the fun of the thing and to make Graham, here, ask questions.” 

“ Mr. Perry !” gasped Mrs. Lawrence. “ And do you mean that 
Mrs. Belknap knows? — that you told her what you have just told 
me ?” 

“Well, no,” laughed Perry. “I fancy Mrs. Belknap thinks as 
you thought, — that it was a gage d’ amour. Halloo ! look at that 
light away out there across the prairie. What can that be ?” 

Mrs. Lawrence rose suddenly to her feet and gazed southeastward 
in the direction in which the young officer pointed. It was a lovely, 
starlit night. A soft wind was blowing gently from the south and 
bearing with it the fragrance of spring blossoms and far-away flowerets. 
Others, too, had arisen, attracted by Perry’s sudden exclamation. Mrs. 
Belknap turned languidly in her hammock and glanced over her 
pretty white shoulder. The colonel followed her eyes with his and 
gave a start of surprise. The doctor turned slowly and composedly 
and looked silently towards the glistening object, and then upon the 
officers of the cavalry there fell sudden astonishment. 

“ What on earth could that have been ?” asked the colonel. “ It 
gleamed like the head-light of a locomotive, away down there in the 
valley of the Monee, then suddenly went out.” 

“Be silent a moment, and watch,” whispered Mrs. Lawrence to 
Perry. “ You will see it again ; and — watch the doctor.” 

Surely enough, even as they were all looking about and comment- 
ing on the strange apparition, it suddenly glared forth a second time, 
shining full and lustrous as m unclouded planet, yet miles away 
beyond and above the fringe of cottonwoods that wound southeast- 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


135 


ward with the little stream. Full half a minute it shone, and then, 
abruptly as before, was hidden from sight. 

Perry was about starting forward to join the colonel, when a 
little hand was laid upon his arm. 

“ Wait : once more you ’ll see it, ’ ’ she whispered. 1 1 Then take me 
in to Captain Lawrence. Do you see that the doctor is leaving?” 

Without saying a word to any one, the post surgeon had very 
quietly withdrawn from the group on the veranda. He could not 
well leave by the front gate without attracting attention; but he 
strolled leisurely into the hall, took up a book that lay on the table, 
and passed through the group of officers seated smoking and chat- 
ting there, entered the sitting-room on the south side of the hall, — 
the side opposite the parlor where the whist-game was in progress, — 
and there he was lost to sight. 

A third time the bright light burst upon the view of the gazers. 
A third time, sharply and suddenly it disappeared. Then for a 
moment all was silence and watchfulness ; but it came no more. 

Perry looked questioningly in his companion’s face. She had 
turned a little white, and he felt sure that she was shivering. 

“Are you cold?” he asked her, gently. 

“No,— not that; but I hate mysteries, after what I’ve heard, and 
we haven ’t seen that light in ever so long. Come here to the corner 
one moment. ’ ’ And she led him around to the other flank of the big 
wooden, barrack-like residence of the commanding officer. 

“Look up there,” she said, pointing to a dark window under the 
peaked dormer roof of the large cottage to the south. * 1 That is the 
doctor’s house.” 

In a few seconds a faint gleam seemed to creep through the slats. 
Then the slats themselves were thrown wide open, a white shade was 
lowered, and, with the rays behind it growing brighter every in- 
stant, a broad white light shone forth over the roof of the veranda. 
Another moment, and footsteps were heard along the doctor’s 
porch,— footsteps that presently approached them along the grass. 

“Come,” she said, plucking at his sleeve, — “come away: it is 
the doctor.” 

“For what reason?” he answered. “That would seem like hid- 
ing. No, Mrs. Lawrence, let us stay until he comes. ’ ’ 

But the doctor passed them with brief and courteous salutation, — 


136 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


spoke of the beauty of the night and the balm of the summery air,— 
and went in again by the main door to the colonel’s quarters. 

Then Perry turned to his partner: “Well, Mrs. Lawrence, what 
does it all mean? Is this part of what you had to tell me?” 

“Don’t ask me now. I — I did not want to see what we have seen, 
but I had heard queer stories and could not believe them. Take me 
in to Captain Lawrence, please. And, Mr. Perry, you won’t speak of 
this to any one, will you ? Indeed, if I had known, I would not have 
come out here for the world ; but I didn’t believe it, even when she 
went away and took the children.” 

“ Who went away ?” 

“ Mrs. Quin, — the doctor’s wife. And she was such a sweet woman, 
and so devoted to him.” 

“ Well, pardon me, Mrs. Lawrence, I don’t see through this thing 
at all. Do you mean that the doctor has anything to do with the 
mystery ?” 

She bowed her head as they turned back to the house : “ I must not 
tell you any more to-night. You will be sure to hear something of ii 
all, here. Everybody on the piazza saw the lights, and all who were 
here before you came knew what they meant.” 

“ What were they ?” 

“ Signals, of some kind, from Dunraven Ranch.” 


II. 

Ned Perry hated reveille and morning stables about as vehemently 
as was possible to a young fellow who was in other respects thoroughly 
in love with his profession. A fairer type of the American cavalry 
officer, when once he got in saddle and settled down to business, one 
would hardly ask to find. Tall, athletic, slender of build, with frank, 
laughing blue eyes, curly, close-cropped, light-brown hair, and a twirl- 
ing moustache that was a source of inexpressible delight to its owner 
and of some envy to his brother subalterns, Mr. Perry was probably 
the best-looking of the young officers who marched with the battalion 
to this far-away station on the borders of the Llano Estacado. He 
had been ten years in service, counting the four he spent as a cadet, 
had just won his silver bar as the junior first-lieutenant of the regi- 
ment, was full to the brim of health, energy, animal spirits, and fun, 
and, barring a few duns and debts in his earlier experiences, had never 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


137 


known a heavier care in the world than the transient and ephemeral 
anxiety as to whether he would be called up for recitation on a subject 
he had not so much as looked at, or “ hived” absent from a roll-call he 
had lazily slept through. Any other man, his comrades said, would 
have been spoiled a dozen times over by the petting he had received 
from both men and women ; but there was something essentially sweet 
and genial about his nature, — something “ lacking in guile about his 
perceptions,” said a cynical old captain of the regiment, — and a jovial, 
sunshiny way of looking upon the world as an Eden, all men and all 
women as friends, and the Army as the profession above all others, and 
these various attributes combined to make him popular with his kind 
and unusually attractive to the opposite sex. As a cadet he had been 
perpetually on the verge of dismissal because of the appalling array of 
demerits he could roll up against his name ; and yet the very officers 
who jotted down the memoranda of his sins — omission and commis- 
sion — against the regulations were men who openly said he “ had the 
making of one of the finest soldiers in the class.” As junior second- 
lieutenant — “ plebe” — of the regiment, he had been welcomed by every 
man from the colonel down, and it was considered particularly rough 
that he should have to go to such a company as Captain Canker’s, 
because Canker was a man who never got along with any of his 
juniors ; but there was something so irrepressibly frank and contrite 
in Perry’s boyish face when he would appear at his captain’s door in 
the early morning and burst out with, “ By Jove, captain ! I slept 
through reveille again this morning, and never got down till stables 
were nearly over,” that even that cross-grained but honest troop-com- 
mander was disarmed, and, though he threatened and reprimanded, he 
would never punish, — would never deny his subaltern the faintest privi- 
lege; and when promotion took the captain to another regiment he bade 
good-by to Perry with eyes that were suspiciously wet. “ Why, blow it 
all, what do you fellows hate Canker so for ?” the youngster often said. 
“ He ought to put me in arrest time and again, but he won’t. Blamed 
if I don’t put myself in arrest, or confine myself to the limits of the 
post, or do something, to cut all this going to town and hops and such 
things. Then I can stick to the troop like wax and get up at reveille ; 
but if I’m out dancing till two or three in the morning it’s no use, I 
tell you : I just can't wake up.” Indeed, it was part of the unwritten 
records of the — th that while at Riley and having very sociable times, 
Ned Perry actually declined invitations, cooped himself up in gar- 

12 * 


138 


BUN RAVEN RANCH. 


rison, and wore metaphorical sackcloth and ashes, for a whole week, in 
penance for certain neglects of duty brought about by the presence 
of a bevy of pretty girls. It was not until Canker went to him in 
person and virtually ordered him out that Perry could be induced to 
appear at the party given in farewell to two of the prettiest, who were 
to leave for the East on the following day. 

And yet he was a disappointment in a certain way. It was always 
predicted of Ned Perry that he would be “ married and done for” within 
a year of his graduation. Every new face in the five years that followed 
revived the garrison prophecy, “ Now he’s gone, sure !” but, however 
devoted he might seem to the damsel in question, however restless and 
impatient he might be when compelled by his duties to absent himself 
from her side, however promising to casual observers — perchance to the 
damsel herself — might be all the surface-indications, the absolute frank- 
ness with which he proclaimed his admiration to every listener, and the 
fact that he “ had been just so with half a dozen other girls,” enabled 
the cooler heads of the regiment to decide that the time had not yet 
come, — or at least the woman. 

“ I do wish,” said Mrs. Turner, “ that Mr. Perry would settle on 
somebody, because, just so long as he doesn’t, it is rather hard to tell 
whom he belongs to.” And, as Mrs. Turner had long been a reigning 
belle among the married women of the — th, and one to whom the 
young officers were always expected to show much attention, her whim- 
sical way of describing the situation was readily understood. 

But here at the new station — at far-away Ilossiter — makers were 
taking on a new look. To begin with, the wives of the officers of the 
cavalry battalion had not joined, none of the ladies of the — th were 
here, and none would be apt to come until the summer’s scouting-work 
was over and done with. The ladies of the little battalion of infantry 
were here, and, though there were no maiden sisters or cousins yet at the 
post (rest assured that more than one was already summoned), they 
were sufficient in number to enliven the monotony of garrison life and 
sufficiently attractive to warrant all the attention they cared to receive. 
It was beginning to be garrison chat that if Ned Perry had not “ settled 
on somebody” as the ultimate object of his entire devotion, somebody 
had settled on him, and that was pretty Mrs. Belknap. 

And though Ned Perry hated reveille and morning stables, as has 
been said, and could rarely “ take his week” without making one or 
more lapses, here he was this beautiful May morning out at daybreak 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


138 


when it was his junior’s tour of duty, and wending his way with that 
youngster out to the line of cavalry stables, booted and spurred and 
equipped for a ride. 

The colonel had listened with some surprise to his request, proffered 
just, as the party was breaking up the night before, to be absent from 
garrison a few hours the following morning. 

“But we have battalion drill at nine o’clock, Mr. Perry, and I 
need you there,” he said. 

“ Oh, I’ll be back in time for that, sir. I wanted to be off three 
hours or so before breakfast.” 

The colonel could not help laughing. “ Of course you can go, — go 
wherever you like at those hours, when you are not on guard ; but 1 
never imagined you would want to get up so early.” 

“ Neither I would, colonel, but I’ve been interested in something I 
heard about this ranch down the Monee, and thought I’d like to ride 
down and look at it.” 

“ Go ahead, by all means, and see whether those lights came from 
there. It made me think of a play I once saw, — the ‘ Colleen Bawn,’ - 
where a fellow’s sweetheart signalled across the lake by showing a light 
in her cottage window just that way, three times, and he answered by 
turning out the lights in his room. Of course the distance wasn’t any- 
thing like this ; and there was no one here to turn down any light 

Eh ! what did you say ?” 

“I beg pardon, colonel. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” put in a 
gentle voice at his elbow, while a little hand on Perry’s arm gave it a 
sudden and vigorous squeeze, “ but Captain Lawrence has called me 
twice, — he will not re-enter after lighting his cigar, — and I must say 
good-night.” 

“Oh! good-night, Mrs. Lawrence. I’m sorry you go so early. 
We are going to reform you all in that respect as soon as we get fairly 
settled. Here’s Perry, now, would sit up and play whist with me an 
hour yet.” 

“ Not this night, colonel. He has promised to walk home with us” 
(another squeeze), “and go he must, or be a faithless escort. Good- 
night. We’ve had such a lovely, lovely time.” 

And Ned Perry, dazed, went with her to the gate, where Captain 
Lawrence was awaiting them. She had barely time to murmur, — 

“You were just on the point of telling him about the doctor’s 
lights. I cannot forgive myself for being the means of your seeing 


140 


DTJN RAVEN RANCH. 


it ; but keep my confidence, and keep — this, until everybody is talking 
about it : it will come soon enough.” 

Naturally, Mr. Perry went home somewhat perturbed in spirit and 
all alive with conjecture as to what these things could mean. The first 
notes of “ assembly of the trumpeters” — generally known as “ first call” 
— -roused him from his sleep, and by the time the men marched out tc 
stables he had had his plunge-bath, a vigorous rub, and a chance to 
think over his plans before following in their tracks, dressed for his 
ride. The astonishment of Lieutenant Parke, the junior of the troop, 
was something almost too deep for words when Perry came bounding 
to his side. 

u What on earth brings you out, Ned ?” was his only effort. 

“ Going for a gallop, — down the Monee : that’s all. I haven’t had 
a freshener for a week.” 

“ Gad ! we get exercise enough at morning drill, one would think, 

and our horses too. Oh ! ” And Mr. Parke stopped suddenly. It 

flashed across him that perhaps Perry was going riding with a lady 
friend and the hour was her selection. If so, ’twas no business of his, 
and remarks were uncalled for. Accepting this as the one possible 
explanation of Perry’s abnormal early rising, he curbed his tongue, 
and Perry, absorbed in his own projects and thinking of anything but 
what was passing through his comrade’s brain, strode blithely over the 
springy turf, saying nothing further of his plan. 

When he mounted and rode away from the stable Mr. Parke was 
outside at the picket-rope, and busily occupied in his duties, supervising 
the fastening of the fresh, spirited horses at the line, for the troop- 
commander was a man intolerant of disorder of any kind, and nothing 
more offended his eye than the sight of two or three of his chargers 
loose and plunging and kicking up and down the stable-yard. On the 
other hand, there was no one exploit that seemed to give the younger 
animals keener delight, — nothing that made the perpetrator a bigger 
hero in his own eyes or the object of greater envy among his fellows, — 
and as a consequence every device of which equine ingenuity was 
master was called into play, regularly as the morning came around, to 
break loose either from the controlling hand of the trooper or from the 
taut and straining picket-rope. The first care of the officer in charge 
and the troop-sergeants was, therefore, to see that all the horses were se- 
curely lashed and knotted. Not until he had examined every “halter- 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


141 


shank” was Mr. Parke at leisure to look around ; but when he did, hia 
comrade had disappeared from view. 

The valley of the Monee, shallow, and bare of trees except in 
scattered clumps along the stream, stretched away southeastward for 
many a mile until lost to sight in the general level at the horizon. 
Off to the north and east the prairie rose and fell in long, low undu- 
lations, so devoid of abrupt slope of any kind as to seem absolutely 
flat to the unpractised eye. Southward and to the west of the lonely 
post the surface was relieved of this monotony by occasional gentle 
rise and swell. Nowhere, however, over the broad expanse was there 
sign of other vegetation than the gray-green carpet of buffalo-grass, 
and this carpet itself was mapped in fantastic pattern, the effect of 
prairie-fires more or less recent in occurrence. Where within a fort- 
night the flames had swept over the surface, all the bosom of the earth 
was one black barren, a land shunned for the time being by every living 
thing. Where by sudden freak of wind or fall of rain the scourging 
fires had been checked in their course, there lay broad wastes of virgin 
turf, already bleaching under the fierce Texan sun to the conventional 
gray of the buffalo-grass. But contrasted with these wide mantles of 
black and gray — contrasting sharply, too, because never blending — 
every mile or so were sudden patches of bright and lively green ; and 
this was the hue of the sturdy young grass peeping up through the 
wastes that the flames had desolated late in March. 

And over this broad level, horizon-bounded, not a moving object 
could be seen. Far away, in little groups of three or four, black dots 
of grazing cattle marked the plain ; and over in the “ breaks” of the 
Monee, just beyond the fringing cottonwoods, two or three herds of 
Indian ponies were sleepily cropping their morning meal, watched by 
the little black imp of a boy whose dirty red blanket made the only 
patch of color against the southern landscape. Later in the day, when 
the sun mounted high in the heavens and the brisk westerly winds sent 
the clouds sailing swift across the skies, all the broad prairie seemed 
in motion, for then huge shadows swept its face with measured speed, 
and distant cattle and neighboring pony-herd appeared as though calmly 
and contentedly riding on a broad platform, Nature’s own “ observa- 
tion-car,” taking a leisurely journey towards the far-away Pacific. 

But the sun was only just up as Mr. Parke came back from his 
inspection of the halter-fastenings and paused to look across the low 
valley. Far down to the southeast the rays seemed glinting on some 


142 


DTJNRA7EN RANCH. 


bright objects clustered together within short range of the shadowy 
fringe, and the lieutenant shaded his eyes with his gauntlet and looked 
fixedly thitherward as he stood at the stable door. 

M Some new tinning down at that English ranch they talk of, I 
suppose,” was his explanation of the phenomenon, and then, “ Wonder 
why Perry hasn’t ridden to cultivate the acquaintance of those people 
before this. He was always the first man in the — th to find out who 
our neighbors were.” 

Pondering over this question, it occurred to Mr. Parke that Perry 
had said he was going down the Monee that morning ; but nowhere 
was there a speck in sight that looked like loping horseman. To be 
sure, the trail bore close to the low bluffs that bounded the valley on 
the north by the time one had ridden a mile or so out from the post. 
He was probably hidden by this shoulder of the prairie, and would 
continue to be until he reached the bend, five miles below. No use 
watching for him then. Besides, he might not yet have started. Mr. 
Parke recalled the fact that he half suspected a while ago that Ned was 
going to ride — an early ante-breakfast ride — with a lady friend. Mrs. 
Belknap had her own horse, and was an accomplished equestrienne; 
Mrs. Lawrence rode fairly well, and was always glad to go, when 
somebody could give her a saddle and a reliable mount. There were 
others, too, among the ladies of the infantry garrison who were no 
novices cfc cheval. Mr. Parke had no intention whatever of prying into 
the matter. It was simply as something the officer in charge of stable- 
duty was entitled to know that he turned suddenly and called, — 

u Sergeant Gwynne !” 

He heard the name passed down the dark interior of the stable by 
the men sweeping out the stalls, and the prompt and cheery reply. 
The next instant a tall young trooper stepped forth into the blaze of 
early sunlight, his right hand raised in salute, and stood erect and 
motionless by the lieutenant’s side. 
t “ Did Mr. Perry take an extra horse, sergeant ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ I thought possibly he meant to take Roland. He’s the best 
lady’s-horse in the troop, is he not ?” 

“ Yes, sir ; but Roland is at the line now.” 

“ Very well, then. That’s all. I presume he has just ridden down 
to Dunraven.” And Mr. Parke turned to look once more at the glint- 
ing objects down the distant valley. It was a moment or two before he 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


143 


was aware of. the fact that the sergeant still stood there, instead of 
returning to his duties. 

“ I said that was all, sergeant : you can go back to your feeding.” 
And then Mr. Parke turned in some surprise, for Sergeant Gwynne, by 
long odds the u smartest” and most soldierly of the non-commissioned 
officers of the cavalry battalion, for the first time in his history seemed 
to have forgotten himself Though his attitude had not changed, his 
face had, and a strange look was in his bright blue eyes, — a look of 
incredulity and wonderment and trouble all combined. The lieutenant 
was fairly startled when, as though suddenly gathering himself to- 
gether, the sergeant falteringly asked, — 

“ I beg pardon, sir, but — he had ridden — where f’ 

“ Down to the ranch, sergeant, — that one you can just see, away 
down the valley.” 

“ I know, sir ; but — the name ?” 

“ Dunraven Ranch.” 

For an instant the sergeant stood as though dazed, then, with sudden 
effort, saluted, faced about, and plunged into the dark recesses of the 
stable. 

III. 

Meantime, Lieutenant Perry was riding blithely down the winding 
trail, totally unconscious that his movements were of the faintest con- 
sequence to anybody but himself, and equally heedless of their being a 
source of speculation. His horse was one he rejoiced in, full of spirit 
and spring and intelligence; the morning was beautiful, — just cool 
enough to be exhilarating ; his favorite hound, Bruce, went bounding 
over the turf under the slopes, or ranging off through the cottonwoods 
along the stream, or the shallow, sandy arroyos , where the grass and 
weeds grew rank and luxuriant. Every now and then with sudden 
rush and whir a drove of prairie-chickens would leap from their 
covert, and, after vigorous flapping of wings for a few rods, would 
go skimming restfully in long easy curve, and settle to earth again a 
hundred yards away, as though suddenly reminded of the fact that this 
was mating-time and no gentleman would be mean enough to shoot at 
such a season. Every little while, too, with prodigious kicking of dust 
and show of heels, with eyes fairly bulging out of his feather-brained 
head, and tall lop-ears laid flat on his back, a big jack-rabbit would 
bound off into space, and go tearing across the prairie in mad race for 


144 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


his threatened life, putting a mile between him and the Monee before 
he began to realize that the two quadrupeds ambling along the distant 
trail were obedient to the will of that single rider, who had no thought 
to spare for game so small. Some Indian ponies, grazing across his 
pathway, set back their stunted ears, and, cow-like, refused to budge at 
sight and hearing of the big American horse ; whereat a little vagabond 
of a Cheyenne, not ten years old nor four feet high, set up a shrill 
chatter and screech and let drive a few well-directed clods of turf, and 
then showed his white teeth in a grin as Perry sung out a cheery “ How ! 
sonny,” and spurred on through the opening thoroughfare, heedless of 
spiteful pony looks or threatening heels. 

Perry’s spirits rose with every rod. Youth, health, contentment, 
all were his, and his heart was warm towards his fellow-men. To the 
best of his reckoning, he had not an enemy or detractor in the world. 
He was all gladness of nature, all friendliness, frankness, and cordiality. 
The toughest cow-boy whom they had met on the long march down, 
the most crabbed of the frontiersmen they had ever encountered, was 
never proof against such sunshine as seemed to irradiate his face. He 
would go out of his way at any time to meet and hail a fellow-man upon 
the prairies, and rarely came back without knowing all about him, — 
where he was from, whither he was bound, and what were his hopes and 
prospects. And as for himself, no man was readier to answer question 
or to meet in friendliest and most jovial spirit the rough but well-meant 
greetings of “ the Plains.” 

Being in this frame of mind to an extent even greater than his 
normal wont, M:. Perry’s eyes glistened, and he struck spur to hasten 
Nolan’s etride, when, far ahead, and coming towards him on the trail, 
he saw a horseman like himself. Being in this mood of sociability, 
he was something more than surprised to see that all of a sudden that 
horseman had reined in — a mere black dot a mile away — and was 
presumably examining him as he advanced. Hostile Indians there 
had been none for many a long month, “ road-agents” would have 
starved in a region where there practically were no roads, cow-boys 
might — and did — get on frolics and have wild “ tears” at times, but 
who ever heard of their being hostile, man to man? Yet Perry was 
plainsman enough to tell, even at the mile of distance, that the stranger 
had halted solely to scrutinize him , and, next, to his vast astonish- 
ment, that something in his appearance had proved either alarming 
or suspicious, for the horseman had turned abruptly, plunged through 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 


145 


the timber and across the stream, and in another moment, veering 
that way himself to see, Perry marked him fairly racing into the mouth 
of a shallow ravine, or “ break,” that entered the valley from the south, 
and there he was lost to sight. 

“ What an ill-mannered galoot !” was his muttered comment, as he 
gave Nolan brief chance to crop the juicy grass, while his perturbed 
rider sat gazing across the stream in the direction taken by the shy 
horseman. “ I’ve half a mind to drop the ranch and put out after 
that fellow. That ravine can’t go in so very far but what he must 
soon show up on the level prairie ; and I’ll bet Nolan could run him 
down.” After a moment’s reflection, however, Mr. Perry concluded 
that, as he had come so far and was now nearly within rifle-shot of the 
mysterious goal of his morning ride, he might as well let the stranger 
go, and pushed ahead, himself, for Dunraven. 

The stream bent southward just at the point where he had first 
caught sight of the horseman, and around that point he knew the 
ranch to be. Very probably that was one of the ranchmen of whom 
Mrs. Lawrence had spoken, — churlish fellows, with a civil word for 
nobody, grim and repellent. Why, certainly ! That accounted for his 
evident desire to avoid the cavalryman ; but he need not have been in 
such desperate haste, — need not have kept at such unapproachable 
bounds, as though he shunned even being seen. That was the queer 
thing, thought Perry. He acted just as though he did not want to be 
recognized. Perhaps he’d been up to some devilment at the ranch. 

This thought gave spur to his speed, and Nolan, responsive to his 
master’s mood, leaped forward along the winding trail once more. The 
point was scon reached and turned, and the first object that caught 
Perry’s eye was a long row of stakes stretching from the cottonwoods 
straight to the south up the gentle slope to the prairie, and indicating 
beyond all question the presence there of a stout and high and impassa- 
ble wire fence. There are few things the cavalryman holds in meaner 
estimate. 

“ That marks the western limit,” thought Perry to himself , *“ and 
doubtless reaches miles away to the south, from what I hear. Now, 
where does one enter?” 

A little farther on he came upon a trail leading from the low bluffs 
to his left hand. It crossed the winding bridle-path on which he rode, 
though some of the hoof-tracks seemed to join, and wheel-tracks too. 
He had marked that between the fort and the point no sign of wheel 

G 13 


146 


BZJNRA VEN RANCH. 


appeared: it was a hoof-trail and nothing more. Now a light and 
little-travelled wagon-track came in from the north, and while one 
branch seemed to cross the Monee and to ascend the opposite slopes 
close along the wire fence, the other joined him and went on down the 
stream. This he decided to follow. 

A ride of a few hundred yards brought him to a point where a 
shoulder of bluff twisted the trail well in towards the stream, and he, 
thinking to cross and reconnoitre on the other shore, turned Nolan in 
that way, and was suddenly brought up standing by the heaviest and 
most forbidding wire fence he had ever seen. Yes, there it stretched 
aw r ay through the cottonwoods, straight as a die, back to the angle 
whence started the southward course he first had noted, and, looking 
down stream, far as the eye could reach, he marked it, staked as though 
by the theodolite itself, straight as surveyor could make it, a rigid line 
to the southeast. Sometimes the stream lay on one side, sometimes on 
the other ; so, too, the cottonwoods ; but there, grim and bristling and 
impassable, over five feet high, and fairly snarling with its sharp and 
jagged teeth, this inhuman barrier lay betwixt him and the lands of 
Dunraven Ranch. 

" Well,” thought Perry, “ I’ve often heard an Englishman’s house 
was his castle, but who would have thought of staking and wiring in 
half a county — half a Texas county — in this hoggish way? How far 
down is the entrance, anyhow?” 

Following the trail, he rode down-stream a full half-mile, and still 
there seemed no break. Nowhere on the other shore was there sign 
of bridle-path leading up the slopes. Turning to his left in some im- 
patience, he sent Nolan at rapid lope across the intervening u bottom,” 
and soon reached the bluffs, which rose perhaps forty or fifty feet above 
the stream. Once on the crest, the prairie stretched before him, north- 
ward, level as a floor, until it met the sky • but it was southward he 
bnged to look, and thither quickly turned. Yes, there it lay, — Dun- 
raven Ranch, in all its lonely majesty. From where he gazed the 
nearest building soood a good long mile away. That it was the home- 
stead he divined at once, for a broad veranda ran around the lower 
story, and white curtains were visible at the dormer-windows of the 
upper floor. Back of it and on the eastern flank were other buildings, 
massive-looking, single-storied affairs, — evidently stables, storehouses, 
and corrals. . There was a tall windmill there, — an odd sight in so 
remote a region, — and a big water-tank. Perry wondered how it ever 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 


147 


got there. Then at the southwest angle was a building that looked 
like an office of some kind. He could see horses tethered there, and 
what seemed to be human figures moving about. Beyond it all, to 
the east and south, were herds of grazing cattle, and here and there 
in the dim distance a horseman moved over the prairie. This re- 
minded him of the stranger who had given him the slip; and he 
gazed westward in search of him. 

Far up the valley, between him and the distant post, he could 
plainly see a black object just descending the slopes from the south- 
ern prairie to the stream. Not another was in sight that his prac- 
tised eye did not know to be cattle. That, then, was his horseman, 
once more going fort- wards in the valley, after having made a three- 
or four-mile detour to avoid him. “Now, what sort of a Christian is 
that fellow ?” thought Perry, as he gazed at the distant speck. 
“Going to the fort, too. By thunder! I’ll find out who he is, any- 
how. Now I’m going to the ranch.” 

Down the slopes he rode. Down the winding trail once more he 
trotted, peering through every gap among the cottonwoods, slaking 
Nolan’s thirst at a little pool in the stream, and then, after another 
long half-mile, he came to a sudden turn to the right. The road 
dipped and twisted through the stream-bed, rose to the other side, 
wound through the cottonwoods and then out on the open turf. 
Huzza! There it stretched up the slopes straight away for the 
south, straight through a broad gap between two heavy gate-posts 
standing on the stake-line of that rigid fence. Nolan broke into a 
brisk canter and gave a neigh of salutation; Perry’s eyes glistened 
with anticipation as he bent over his charger’s neck, keenly search- 
ing the odd-looking structure growing on his vision as they neared 
the fence. Then, little by little, Nolan’s eager stride shortened and 
grew choppy. Another moment, and horse and rider reined up short 
in disappointment. Between the gate-posts swung a barrier of cob- 
web lightness, slender and airy as ever spider wove, but bristling 
with barbs, stiff as “bullfinch” and unyielding as steel. One glance 
showed Perry that this inhospitable gate was firmly locked. 

For a moment he sat in saddle, studying the situation, while Nolan 
poked his head over the topmost strand of wire and, keeping at re- 
spectful distance from the glittering barbs, gazed wistfully over the 
enclosed prairie in search of comrade quadruped who could tell him 
what manner of place this was. Meantime, his rider was intently 
eyeing the heavy padlock that was secured on the inner side of the 


148 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


gate. It was square in shape, massive and bulky,— something utterly 
unlike anything he had ever seen among the quartermaster’s stores. 
Dismounting, and holding Nolan well back from the aggressive fence 
with one hand, he gingerly passed the other through the spike-fringed 
aperture and turned the padlock so as to get a better view. It was of 
English make, as he surmised, and of strength sufficient to resist 
anything short of a trip-hammer. Evidently no admission was to be 
gained here, he reasoned ; and yet it was through here that that horse- 
man had come but an hour before. Here were the fresh hoof -prints 
in the trail, and it was evident that the rider had dismounted, opened 
the gate, led his horse through, closed and fastened it, then remounted 
and ridden away. Perry was plainsman enough to read this from the 
hoof-prints. Studying them carefully, a look of surprise came into his 
face : he bent down and closely examined the two or three that were 
most clearly defined upon the trail, then gave a long whistle as a 
means of expressing his feelings and giving play to his astonishment : 

“ Johnny Bull holds himself too high and mighty to have any- 
thing to do with ns blarsted Yankees, it seems, except when he wants 
his horses shod. These shoes were set at the post blacksmith-shop, or 
Pm a duffer,” was the lieutenant’s verbal comment. “ Now, how was 
it done without the quartermaster’s knowing it ? That’s the cavalry 
shoe !” 

Pondering over this unlooked-for revelation, Mr. Perry once more 
mounted, and turned his disappointed steed again down-stream. He 
had determined to follow the fence in search of another opening. A 
mile he rode among the cottonwoods and across low grassy points, and 
still that inflexible barrier stretched grimly between him and the open 
prairie to the south. Once, up a long shallow “ break,” he caught 
sight of the roofs of some of the ranch-buildings full a thousand yards 
away, and realized that he had passed to the east of them and was 
farther from the goal of his ambition than when he stood at that 
bristling gate. At last, full half a mile farther on, he saw that a wire 
fence ran southward again across the prairie, as though marking 
the eastern boundary of the homestead-enclosure, and, conjecturing 
that there was probably a trail along that fence and an opening 
through, even if the southeastward line should be found fenced still 
farther, he sent Nolan through the Monee to the open bank on the 
northern side, cantered along until the trail turned abruptly southward, 
and, following it, found himself once more at the fence just where the 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 


149 


heavy corner-post stood deeply embedded in the tsoil. Sure enough, 
here ran another fence straight up the gentle slope to the south, a trail 
along its eastern side, and a broad cattle-gap, dusty and tramped with 
the hoofs of a thousand steers, was left in the fence that, prolonged 
down-stream, spanned the northern boundary. Inside the homestead- 
lot all was virgin turf. 

Following the southward trail, Perry rode briskly up the long 
incline. It was east of this fence he had seen the cattle-herds and 
their mounted watchers. He was far beyond the ranch-buildings, but 
felt sure that, once well up on the prairie, he could have an uninter- 
rupted view of them and doubtless meet some of the ranch people and 
satisfy himself what there was in the stories of their churlish and 
repellent demeanor. The sun was climbing higher all this time, and 
he, eager in pursuit of his re'!onnoissance, gave little heed to fleeting 
minutes. If fair means could accomplish it, he and Nolan were 
bound to have acquaintance with Dunraven Ranch. 

Ten minutes’ easy lope brought him well up on the prairie. There 
— westward now — was the mysterious clump of brown buildings, just 
as far away as when he stood, baffled and disappointed, by the gate-way 
on the Monee. Here, leading away towards the distant buildings, was 
a bridle-path. Here in the fence was a gap just such as he had en- 
countered on the stream, and that gap was barred and guarded by the 
counterpart of the first gate and firmly secured by a padlock that was 
the other’s twin. Mr. Perry’s comment at this point of his explorations 
was brief and characteristic, if not objectionable. He gave vent to the 
same low whistle, half surprise, half vexation, that had comforted his 
soul before, but supplemented the whistle with the unnecessary remark, 
“ Well, I’ll be damned !” 

Even Nolan entered his protest against such incredible exclusive- 
ness. Thrusting his lean head far over the topmost wire as before, he 
signalled long and shrill, — a neigh that would have caught the ear of 
any horse within a mile, — and then, all alert, he waited for an answer. 
It came floating on the rising wind, a responsive call, a signal as eager 
and confident as his own, and Nolan and Nolan’s rider whirled quickly 
around to see the source from whence it rose. Four hundred yards 
away, just appearing over a little knoll in the prairie, and moving 
towards them from the direction of a distant clump of grazing cattle, 
another horse and rider came trotting into hailing-distance ; and Perry, 

13 * 


160 


BUN RAVEN RANCH. 


his bright blue eyes dilating, and Nolan, his dainty, sensitive ears 
pricked forward, turned promptly to meet and greet the new arrivals. 

For fifty yards or so the stranger rode confidently and at rapid trot. 
Perry smilingly watched the out-turned toes, the bobbing, “ bent-over” 
seat, and angular elbows that seemed so strange and out of place on the 
broad Texan plain. He could almost see the “ crop” in the free hand, 
and was smiling to himself at the idea of a “ crop” to open wire gates, 
when he became aware of the fact that the stranger’s mien had changed ; 
confidence was giving place to hesitancy, and he was evidently checking 
the rapid trot of his horse and throwing his weight back on the cantle, 
while his feet, thrust through to the very heels in the gleaming steel 
stirrups, were braced in front of the powerful shoulders of the bay. 
The horse wanted to come, the rider plainly wanted to stop. Another 
moment, and Perry could see that the stranger wore eyeglasses and had 
just succeeded in bridging them on his nose and was glaring at him 
with his chin high in air. They were within two hundred yards 
of each other by this time, and, to Perry’s astonishment, the next thing 
the stranger did was to touch sharply his horse with barbed heel, 
whirl him spitefully about, and go bobbing off across the prairie at 
lively canter, standing up in his stirrups, and bestriding his steed as 
though his object were not so much a ride as a game of leap-frog. 

It was evident that he had caught sight of Perry when Nolan 
neighed, had ridden at once to meet him, expecting to find some one 
connected with the ranch, and had veered off in disgust the moment he 
was able to recognize the uniform and horse-equipments of the United 
States Cavalry. 

IV. 

Sweet-temperod a fellow as Mr. Perry confessedly was, there was 
something in the stranger’s conduct that galled him inexpressibly. The 
tenets of “society,” the formalities of metropolitan life, have no rec- 
ognition whatsoever on the wide frontier when once the confines of 
the garrison are passed. Out on the broad expanse of the Plains the 
man who shuns the greeting of his fellow is set down at once as a 
party whose antecedents are shadowy and whose character is suspicious 5 
and never before in his experience of several years and his wanderings 
from the Yellowstone to the Washita had Ned Perry met a frontiers- 
man whe fled at sight of him, except one horse-thief. From his 
Uindsome mount, his garb, and his general appearance, Perry set this 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


151 


stranger down as one of the Englishmen residing at the ranch. It 
was not fear of arrest and capture that sent him scowling away 
across the prairie ; it was deliberate intent to avoid, and this was, to 
Perry’s thinking, tantamount to insult. One moment he gazed after 
the retreating form of the horseman, then clapped his forage-cap 
firmly down upon his head, shook free the rein, and gave Nolan the 
longed-for word. Another instant, and with set teeth and blazing, 
angry eyes he was thundering at headlong speed, swooping down 
upon the unconscious stranger in pursuit. Before that sunburned, 
curly-haired, bulkily-framed young man had the faintest idea of 
what was impending, Mr. Perry was reining in his snorting steed 
alongside and cuttingly accosting him : 

‘ ‘ I beg your pardon, my good sir, but may I ask what you mean 
by trotting away when it must have been evident that I wanted to 
speak with you?” 

The stranger turned slightly and coolly eyed the flushed and in- 
dignant cavalryman. They were trotting side by side now, Nolan 
plunging excitedly, but the English horse maintaining his even 
stride; and stronger contrast of type and style one could scarcely 
hope to find. In rough tweed shooting- jacket and cap, brown Bed- 
ford cords fitting snugly at the knee but flapping like shapeless bags 
from there aloft to the waist, in heavy leather gaiters and equally 
heavy leather gloves, the stocky figure of the Englishman had 
nothing of grace or elegance, but was sturdy, strong, and full of 
that burly self-reliance which is so characteristic of the race. Above 
his broad, stooping shoulders were a bull neck, reddened by the sun, 
a crop of close-curling, light-brown hair, a tanned and honest face 
lighted up by fearless gray eyes and shaded by a thick and curling 
beard of lighter hue than the hair of his massive head. He rode with 
the careless ease and supreme confidence of the skilled horseman, 
but with that angularity of foot and elbow, that roundness of back 
and bunching of shoulders, that incessant rise and fall with every 
beat of his horse’s powerful haunch, that the effect was that of 
neither security nor repose. His saddle, too, was the long, flat-seated, 
Australian model, pig-skin, with huge rounded leathern cushions 
circling in front and over the knees, adding to the cumbrousness of 
his equipment and in no wise to the comfort ; but his bit and curb- 
chain were of burnished steel, gleaming as though fresh from the 
hands of some incomparable English groom, and the russet reins 
were soft and pliable, telling of excellent stable management and 


152 


I) UNRAVEN RANCH. 


discipline. Perry couldn’t help admiring that bridle, even in his 
temporary fit of indignation. 

As for him, — tall, slender, elegantly made, clothed in the accurately- 
fitting undress “ blouse” of the army and in riding-breeches that dis- 
played to best advantage the superb moulding of his powerful thighs, 
sitting like centaur well down in the saddle, his feet and lower legs, 
cased in natty riding-boots, swinging close in behind the gleaming 
sh mlders of his steed, erect as on parade, yet swaying with every mo- 
tion of his horse, graceful, gallant, and to the full as powerful as his 
burly companion, the advantage in appearance was all on Perry’s side, 
and was heightened by Nolan’s spirited action and martial trappings. 
Perry was an exquisite in his soldier taste, and never, except on actual 
campaign, rode his troop-horse without his broidered saddle-cloth and 
gleaming bosses. All this, and more, the Englishman seemed quietly 
noting as, finally, without the faintest trace of irritability, with even a sus- 
picion of humor twinkling about the corners of his mouth, he replied, — 

“ A fellow may do as he likes when he’s on his own bailiwick, I 
suppose.” 

“ All the same, wherever I’ve been, from here to Assiniboia, men 
meet like Christians, unless they happen to be road-agents or cattle- 
thieves. What’s more, I am an officer of a regiment just arrived here, 
and, from the Missouri down, there isn’t a ranch along our trail where 
we were not welcome and whose occupants were not ‘ hail-fellow-well- 
met’ in our camps. You are the first people to shun us ; and, as that 
fort yonder was built for your protection in days when it was badly 
needed, I want to know what there is about its garrison that is so ob- 
noxious to Dunraven Ranch, — that’s what you call it, I believe ?” 

“ That’s what — it is called.” 

“ Well, here ! I’ve no intention of intruding where we’re not 
wanted. I simply didn’t suppose that on the broad prairies of the 
West there was such a place as a ranch where one of my cloth was 
unwelcome. I am Mr. Perry, of the — th Cavalry, and I’m bound to 
say I’d like to know what you people have against us. Axe you the 
proprietor ?” 

“ I’m not. I’m only an employee.” 

“ Who is the owner ?” 

“ He’s not here now.” 

“ Who is here who can explain the situation ?” 

“Ok as to that, I fancy I can do it as well as anybody. It w 


DU NBA VEN RANCH. 


163 


simply because we have to do pretty much as you fellows, — obey orders. 
The owner’s orders are not aimed at you any more than anybody else. 
He simply wants to be let alone. He bought this tract and settled 
here because he wanted a place where he could have things his own 
way, — see people whom he sent for and nobody else. Every man in 
his employ is expected to stick to the ranch so long as he is on the pay- 
roll, and to carry out his instructions. If he can’t, he may go.” 

“ And your instructions are to prevent people getting into the 
ranch ?” 

“Oh, hardly that, you know. We don’t interfere. There’s never 
any one to come, as a rule, and, when they do, the fence seems to be 
sufficient.” 

“ Amply, I should say ; and yet were I to tell you that I had busi- 
ness with the proprietor and needed to ride up to the ranch, you would 
open the gate yonder, I suppose ?” 

“ No : I would tell you that the owner was away, and that in his 
absence I transacted all business for him.” 

“Well, thank you for the information given me, at all events. 
May I ask the name of your misanthropical boss? You might tell 
him I called.” 

“ Several officers called three years ago, but he begged to be ex- 
cused.” 

“ And what is the name ?” 

“ Mr. Maitland — is what he is called.” 

“ All right. Possibly the time may come when Mr. Maitland will 
be as anxious to have the cavalry around him as he is now to keep it 
away. But if you ever feel like coming up to the fort, just ride in and 
ask for me.” 

“ I feel like it a dozen times a week, you know ; but a man mustn’t 
quarrel with his bread-and-butter. I met one of your fellows once on 
a hunt after strayed mules, and he asked me in, but I couldn’t go. 
Sorry, you know, and all that, but the owner won’t have it.” 

“ Well, then there’s nothing to do for it but say good-day to you. 
I’m going back. Possibly I’ll see some of your people up at Rossiter 
when they come to get a horse shod.” 

“ A horse shod ! Why, man alive, we shoe all our horses here !” 

“ Well, that fellow who rode out of your north gate and went up 
towards the fort about an hour or so ago had his horse shod at a 
cavalry forge, or I’m a duffer.” 

G* 


154 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


A quick change came over the Englishman’s face : a flush of sur« 
prise and anger shot up to his forehead : he wheeled about and gazed 
eagerly, loweringly, back towards the far-away buildings. 

“ How do you know there was What fellow did you see ?” 

he sharply asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know who he was,” answered Perry, coolly. “ He 
avoided me just as pointedly as you did, — galloped across the Monee 
and out on the prairie to dodge me ; but he came out of that gate on 
the stream, locked it after him, and went on up to the fort ; and his 
horse had cavalry shoes. Good-day to you, my Britannic friend. 
Come and see us when you get tired of prison-life.” And, with a 
grin, Mr. Perry turned and rode rapidly away, leaving the other 
horseman in a brown study. 

Once fairly across the Monee, he ambled placidly along, thinking of 
the odd situation of affairs at this great prairie-reservation, and almost 
regretting that he had paid the ranch the honor of a call. Beaching 
the point where the wagon-tracks crossed the stream to the gate-way 
in the boundary fence, he reined in Nolan and looked through a vista in 
the cottonwoods. There was the Englishman, dismounted, stooping 
over the ground, and evidently examining the hoof-prints at the gate. 
Perry chuckled at the sight, then, whistling for Bruce, who had strayed 
off through the timber, he resumed his jaunty way to the post. 

In the events of the morning there were several things to give him 
abundant cause for thought, if not for lively curiosity, but he had not 
yet reached the sum total of surprises in store for him. He was still 
two miles out from the fort, and riding slowly along the bottom, when 
he became aware of a trooper coming towards him on the trail. The 
sunbeams were glinting on the polished ornaments of his forage-cap 
and on the bright yellow chevrons of his snugly-fitting blouse. Tall 
and slender and erect was the coming horseman, a model of soldierly 
grace and carriage, and as he drew nearer and his hand went up to the 
cap- visor in salute a gesture from his young superior brought an instant 
pressure on the rein, and horse and man became an animated statue. 
It was a wonderfully sudden yet easy check of a steed in rapid motion, 
and Mr. Perry, a capital rider himself, could not withhold his admi- 
ration. 

“ Where did you learn that sudden halt, sergeant ?” he asked. “ I 
never saw anything so quick except the Mexican training ; but that 
strains a horse and throws him on his haunches.” 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


155 


‘ ‘ It is not uncommon abroad, sir, ’ ’ was the quiet answer. 1 1 1 saw 
it first in the English cavalry ; and it is easy to teach the horse. ’ ’ 

< ‘ I must get you to show me the knack some day. I ’ve noticed it 
two or three times, and would like to learn it. What I stopped you 
for was this: you’ve been stable-sergeant ever since we got here, 
have you not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

‘ ‘ Then if anybody besides members of the troop had horses shod 
at our forge you would be pretty apt to know it?” 

“I know that no one has, sir.” And a flush was rising to the 
young sergeant’s face and a pained look hovering about his bright 
blue eyes. Yet his manner was self-restrained and full of respect. 

“Don’t think I’m intimating anything to the contrary, Sergeant 
Gwynne. No soldier in the regiment more entirely holds the confi- 
dence of his captain— of all the officers— than you. I was not think- 
ing of that. But somebody down there at that big ranch below us 
has had his horse shod by a cavalry farrier, — it may have been done 
while the Eleventh were here, — and, while I knew you would not 
allow it at our forge, I thought it possible that it might be done in 
your absence.” 

“It’s the first time I’ve been out of sight of the stables since we 
came to the post, sir, and the captain gave me permission to ride 
down the valley this morning. May I ask the lieutenant why he 
thinks some ranchman is getting his shoeing done here at the post?” 

“I’ve been down there this morning, and met a man coming up. 
He avoided me, and rode over to the south side, and so excited my 
curiosity; and as they keep that whole place enclosed in a wire 
fence, and he had evidently come out of the north gate, I was struck 
by the sight of the hoof -prints : they were perfectly fresh there on 
the trail, and plain as day. There’s no mistaking the shoe, you 
know. By the way, he rode up to the fort, and probably entered at 
your side of the garrison : did you see him ? ’ ’ 

“No, sir, and, except for breakfast, — just after reveille,— I have 
been at stables all the morning. I was there when the lieutenant got 
his horse.” 

“ Yes, I remember. Then no one rode in from the valley ? ’ ’ 

“No civilian,— no ranchman, sir. The only horseman I’ve seen 
were some Cheyenne scouts during the last two hours, and Dr. Quin, 
— just before sick-call.” 

“Dr. Quin!— the post surgeon! Are you sure, sergeant?” 


DUNK A VEX RANCH. 


156 


“ Certainly, sir. The doctor rode into the post just about an hour 
after the lieutenant left, — coming up the valley too. He went right 
around to his own stable, over towards the hospital.” 

A look of amaze and stupefaction was settling on Perry’s face. 
Now fcr the first time he recalled Mrs. Lawrence’s intimations with 
regard to the doctor, and his connection with the signal-lights. Now 
for the first time it occurred to him that the secret of those cavalry 
hoof-prints at the gate was that no ranchman, but an officer of the 
garrison had been the means of leaving them there. Now for the first 
time it flashed upon him that the Englishman’s astonishment and con- 
cern on hearing of those hoof-tracks indicated that the story of a 
mystery at Dunraven in which the doctor was connected amounted to 
something more than garrison rumor. Now for the first time an ex- 
planation occurred to him of the singular conduct of the horseman 
who had dodged him by crossing the Monee. Never in his young life 
had he known the hour when he was ashamed or afraid to look any 
man in the eye. It stung him to think that here at Rossiter, wearing 
the uniform of an honorable profession, enjoying the trust and confi- 
dence of all his fellows, was a man who had some secret enterprise of 
which he dared not speak and of whose discovery he stood in dread. 
There could be little doubt that the elusive stranger was Dr. Quin, and 
that there was grave reason for the rumors of which Mrs. Lawrence 
had vaguely told him. 

For a moment he sat, dazed and irresolute, Nolan impatiently 
pawing the turf the while ; then, far across the prairie and down the 
valley there came floating, quick and spirited, though faint with distance, 
the notes of the cavalry trumpet sounding “ right, front into line.” He 
looked up, startled. 

“ They’re out at battalion drill, sir,” said the sergeant. “ They 
marched out just as I left stables.” 

“ Just my infernal luck again !” gasped Perry, as he struck spur to 
Nolan and sent him tearing up the slope : “ I might have known I’d 
miss it !” 


V. 

That evening a group of cavalry officers came sauntering back from 
6tables, and as they reached the walk in front of officers’ row a dark- 
featured, black-bearded, soldierly-looking captain sepaiated himself 
from the rest and entered the colonel’s yard. The commanding officei 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


157 


happened to be seated on his veranda at the moment, and in close 
confabulation with Dr. Quin. Both gentlemen ceased their talk as 
the captain entered, and then rose from their seats as he stepped upon 
the veranda floor. 

“ Good-evening, Stryker,” said the colonel, cheerily. “Come in 
and have a seat. The doctor and I were just wondering if we could 
not get you to take a hand at whist to-night.” 

“ I shall be glad to join you, sir, after parade. I have come in to 
ask permission to send a sergeant and a couple of men, mounted, down 
the Monee. One of my best men is missing.” 

“ Indeed ! Who is that ? Send the men, of course.” 

“ Sergeant Gwynne, sir. The first time I ever knew him to miss a 
duty.” 

“ Your stable-sergeant, too ? That is unusual. How long has he 
been gone ?” 

“ Since battalion drill this morning. He was on hand when the 
men were saddling, and asked permission to take his horse out for 
exercise and ride down the valley a few miles. I said yes, never sup- 
posing he would be gone after noon roll-call ; and we were astonished 
when he failed to appear at stables. Perry says he met him two miles 
out.” 

“ The two culprits !” said the colonel, laughing. “ Poor Perry is 
down in the depths again. He rode up to me with such a woebegone 
look on his face at drill this morning that I could hardly keep from 
laughing in front of the whole line. Even the men were trying hard 
not to grin : they knew he had turned up just in the nick of time to 
save himself an ‘ absent.' What do you suppose can have happened to 
Gwynne ?” 

“ I cannot imagine, sir, and am inclined to be worried. He would 
never willingly overstay a pass ; and I fear some accident has happened.” 

“ Is he a good rider ?” asked the doctor. 

“ None better in the regiment. He is a model horseman, in fact, 
and, though he never alludes to nor admits it, there is a general feeling 
among the men that he has been in the English cavalry service. Of 
course there is no doubt of his nationality : he is English to the back- 
bone, and, I fancy, has seen better days.” 

“What made them think he had been in the cavalry service 
abroad ?” 

“ Oh, his perfect knowledge of troc^er duties and management of 

14 


158 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


horses. It took him no time to learn the drill, and he was a sergeant 
before he had been with me two years. Then, if you ever noticed, 
colonel,” said Captain Stryker, appealing to his chief, 4 ‘whenever 
Gwynne stands attention he always has the fingers of both hands 
extended and pointing down along the thigh, close against it,— so.” 
And Stryker illustrated. “Now, you never see an American soldier 
do that ; and I never saw it in any but English-trained soldiers. He 
has quit it somewhat of late, because the men told him it showed 
where he was drilled,— we have other English ‘non-coms./ you know, 
— but for a long time I noticed that in him. Then he was enlisted 
in New York City, some four years ago, and all his things were of 
English make,— what he had.” 

“What manner of looking fellow is he?” asked the doctor. “I 
think I would have noted him had I seen him. ’ ’ 

“Yes, you Englishmen are apt to look to one another,” said the 
colonel, in reply, “and Gwynne is a particularly fine specimen. He 
has your eyes and hair, doctor, but hasn’t had time to grow grizzled 
and bulky yet, as you and I have. One might say that you and the 
sergeant were from the same shire.” 

‘ ‘ That would help me very little, since I was only three years old 
when the governor emigrated,” answered the doctor, with a quiet 
smile. “We keep some traces of the old sod, I suppose, but I’ve 
been a Yankee for forty years, and have never once set eyes on 
Merrie England in all that time.— Did the sergeant say where he 
wanted to go?” And the questioner looked up sharply. 

“Nowhere in particular,— down the valley was all. I remember, 
though, that Mr. Parke said he seemed much exercised over the 
name of that ranch down the Monee,— I’ve forgotten what they call 
it.— Have you heard it, colonel?” 

“Seems to me I have, but I’ve forgotten. You have, doctor, 
have you not?” 

‘ ‘ Heard what, colonel ? ’ ’ 

“The name of that ranch down the Monee,— an English ranch, 
they tell me, about seven miles away. ’ ’ 

“Oh, yes! — that one! They call it Dunraven Ranch.— Did the 
sergeant take any of the hounds with him, captain ? It occurs to me 
he might have been running a coyote or a rabbit, and his horse have 
stumbled and fallen with him. There is no end of prairie-dog holes 
down that way.” 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


( 159 

“No, the dogs are all in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had gone 
to the ranch. That’s an English name, and they are all Englishmen 
down there, I hear. Very possibly that is the solution. They may 
have tempted him to stay with English hospitality ; though it would 
astonish me if he yielded. I’ll tell the men to inquire there first, 
colonel, and will go and send them now. ’ ’ And, bowing to his com- 
mander, Captain Stryker turned and left the porch. 

The doctor rose, thrust his hands deep in his pockets, paced 
slowly to the southern end of the veranda, and gazed down the dis- 
tant, peaceful valley, an anxious cloud settling on his brow. The 
colonel resumed once more the newspaper he had dropped upon the 
floor. After a moment Dr. Quin came slowdy back, stood in front of 
the entrance a few seconds looking irresolutely at the soldier 
sprawled at full length in his reclining-chair, stepped towards him 
with a preparatory clearing of his throat as though about to speak, 
and then, suddenly and helplessly abandoning the idea, he plunged 
down the short flight of steps, hurried out of the gate, and disap- 
peared around the fence-corner in the direction of the hospital. Im- 
mersed in his paper, the colonel never seemed to note that he had 
gone ; neither did he note the fact that two ladies were coming down 
the walk. Possibly the vines clustering thickly all over the front of 
his veranda were responsible for this latter failure on his part, since 
it took more than a newspaper, ordinarily, to render the gallant 
dragoon insensible to the approach of the opposite sex. They saw 
him, of course, despite the shrouding vines, and, with perfectly 
justifiable appreciation of the homage due them, were mutually re- 
solved that he should come out of that reclining pose and make his 
bow in due form. No words were necessary between them. The 
understanding was tacit, but complete. 

The soft swish of trailing skirt being insufficient to attract his at- 
tention as they arrived nearly opposite the shaded veranda, a silvery 
peal of laughter broke the stillness of the early evening. Mrs. Bel- 
knap ’s laugh was delicious, — soft, melodious, rippling as a canary’s 
song, and just as spontaneous. Neither lady had said anything at 
the moment that was incentive of merriment ; but if Mrs. Lawrence 
had given utterance to the quaintest, oddest, most whimsical conceit 
imaginable, Mrs. Belknap’s laugh could not have been more ready, 
and her great, dark eyes shot a sidelong glance to note the effect. 
Down went the paper, and up, with considerable propping from his 
muscular arms, came the burly form of the post commander. Two 


160 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


sweet, smiling faces beamed upon him through an aperture in the 
leafy screen, and Mrs. Belknap’s silvery voice hailed him in laugh- 
ing salutation: 

u Did we spoil your siesta, colonel ? How can I make amends ? 
You see, you were so hidden by the vines that no one would dream of 
your being there in ambush.” 

“ Oh, indeed, I assure you I wasn’t asleep,” answered the colonel, 
hastily. “ Won’t you come in, ladies, and sit here in the shade awhile V 
You’ve been calling, I suppose?” 

“ Yes, — calling, on the entire social circle of Fort Rossiter. Con- 
gratulate us, colonel : we have actually accomplished the feat of visiting 
every woman in society. We have made the rounds of the garrison. 
We owe no woman anything, — beyond a grudge or two, — and it has 
only taken forty-five minutes, despite the fact that everybody was at 
home.” 

“ Well, come in, Mrs. Belknap; do come in, Mrs. Lawrence. I 
assure you that, though everybody must have been enchanted to see 
you, nobody is half as glad as I am. You must be tired after such a 
round of visits.” And the colonel plunged heavily down the steps and 
hospitably opened the gate. 

“ We thought we would stroll around until parade,” said Mrs. 
Lawrence, hesitatingly, “ and then sit down and watch it somewhere.” 

“ No place better than this,” promptly answered the colonel. “ You 
can sit behind the vines on that side and see, or, what we would infi- 
nitely prefer, sit here at the entrance and be seen. Meantime, I’ve been 
unpacking some photograph-albums this afternoon, and you can amuse 
yourselves with those while I put on my harness. Come !” 

The colonel’s collection of photographs was something the ladies 
had already heard a great deal of. One of the most genial and popular 
officers in the army, he had gathered together several large albums full 
of pictures of prominent men and attractive and distinguished women, 
— not only those with whom he had been associated in his long years 
of service, but men eminent in national and state affairs, and women 
leaders in society in many a gay metropolis. Both the ladies had 
hoped to see this famous collection the evening before, but the colonel 
had not then unpacked the albums, and they were disappointed. Now, 
however, the prospect was indeed alluring, and neither could resist. 
When the first call sounded for parade a few moments after, and the 
commanding officer was getting himself into his full-dress uniform, the 
two pretty heads were close together, and two pairs of very lovely eyes 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


161 


— one dark and deep and dangerous, the other a clear and honest gray 
—were dilating over page after page of photographed beauty. There 
was no need to puzzle over the identity of the originals : under each 
picture the thoughtful colonel had carefully written the name and ad- 
dress. Absorbed in this treat, they could barely afford time to look 
up and smile their thanks as the colonel passed, clanking forth at the 
sounding of adjutant’s call, and were too completely engrossed in their 
delightful occupation to notice what took place at parade. 

The long, slender line had formed, — the infantry companies on the 
right and left flanks, their neat and tasteful dress of blue and white 
contrasting favorably with the gaudy yellow plumage of the four dis- 
mounted troops of the cavalry. Company after company had taken 
the statuesque pose of “ parade rest” and its captain faced to the front 
again, the adjutant was just about moving to his post on the prolonga- 
tion of the front rank, and the colonel settling back into the con- 
ventional attitude of the commanding officer, when from outside the 
rectangular enclosure of the parade-ground — from somewhere beyond 
the men’s barracks — there came sudden outcry and commotion. There 
were shouts, indistinguishable at first, but excited and startling. Some 
of the men in ranks twitched nervously and partially turned their 
heads, as though eager to look behind them and see what was wrong ; 
whereat stern voices could be heard in subdued but potent censure : 
“ Keep your eyes to the front, there, Sullivan !” “ Stand fast, there, 

centre of Third Company !” The guard, too, paraded in front of its 
quarters some distance behind the line, was manifestly disturbed, and 
the voice of the sergeant could be heard giving hurried orders. Every 
man in the battalion seemed at the same instant to arrive at one of two 
conclusions, — prisoners escaping, or fire over at the stables, — and all 
eyes were fixed on the imperturbable form of the commanding officer, 
as though waiting the signal from him to break and go to the rescue. 
But there the colonel stood, placid, calm, and apparently utterly un- 
conscious of the distant yet nearing clamor. The adjutant hesitated a 
moment before proceeding further, and glanced appealingly at his chief; 
whereupon there came from the blue and gold and yellow statue out 
on the parade, in half-reproachful tones, the quiet order, “ Go on !” and 
the adjutant, recalled to his senses and with evident expression of his 
sentiments to the effect that if others could stand it he could, brusquely 
turned his head towards the band and growled, “ Sound off !” The 
boom and crash of drum and cymbal and the blare of brazen throats 

14 * 


162 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


drowned for a moment the sound of the turmoil without. The next 
thing the battalion heard, or saw, was a riderless horse tearing full 
tilt out of the parade and sweeping in a big circle from the right of 
the line down towards the point where the colonel stood. Following 
him came a pair of Cheyenne scouts, their ponies scampering in 
pursuit, but veering off the green as their riders realized that they 
were intruding on the ceremony of the day. Believed of his pursuers, 
the fugitive speedily settled down into a lunging trot, and with 
streaming mane and tail, with head and ears erect, with falling 
bridle-rein and flapping stirrups, he circled rapidly the open space 
between the colonel and the line of battle, then came trotting back 
along the front, as though searching in the stolid rank of bearded 
faces for the friends he knew. Officer after officer he passed in re- 
view until he came to Stryker’s troop, posted on the right of the cav- 
alry, and there, with a neigh of recognition, he fearlessly trotted up 
to the captain’s outstretched hand. Another minute, and two men 
fell out and made a temporary gap in the rank ; through this a ser- 
geant file-closer extended his white glove, relieved the captain of his 
charge, and led the panting steed away. The men retook their places ; 
the captain again resumed his position in front of the centre of his 
company, dropped the point of his sabre to the ground, and settled 
back into “ parade rest;” the band went on thundering down the 
line, countermarched, and came back to its post on the right, making 
the welkin ring with the triumphant strains of “ Northern Route,” 
the trumpets pealed the “retreat,” the adjutant stalked his three 
yards to the front, faced fiercely to the left and shouted his resonant 
orders down the line, three hundred martial forms sprang to atten- 
tion, and the burnished arms came to the “carry” with simultaneous 
crash, ranks were opened with old-time precision, the parade “pre- 
sented” to the colonel with all due formality, the manual was exe- 
cuted just as punctiliously as though nothing unusual had happened ; 
first-sergeants reported, orders were published, parade formally dis- 
missed ; the line of officers marched solidly to the front, halted, and 
made its simultaneous salute to the colonel, who slowly raised and 
lowered his white-gloved hand in recognition ; and then, and not till 
then, was any one allowed to speak of what was uppermost in every 
mind,— that Sergeant Gwynne’s horse had come in without him, and 
that the animal ’s right flank was streaming with blood. 

Ten minutes later, Lieutenant Perry, in riding-dress, came 
hurrying down to the colonel’s quarters, where two or three officers 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


163 


were now gathered at the gate. The ladies had put aside the albums, 
and with anxious faces were scanning the little group, as though 
striving to gauge from their gestures and expression the extent of 
the calamity or the possible degree of danger. But Mrs. Lawrence 
looked fairly startled when her husband’s voice was heard for the 
first time above the general hum of consultation : 

“Colonel Brainard, Mr. Perry is coming, I see, and I presume 
there is no time to be lost. You have asked if none of us who were 
stationed here ever visited the ranch, and the answer was no. May I 
suggest that Dr. Quin could perhaps tell something of its in- 
habitants ? ’ ’ 

“Where is the doctor?” asked the colonel, turning suddenly. 
‘ ‘ Orderly, go and give my compliments to the post surgeon and say 
I wish to see him here a moment.— All ready, Perry? You have 
made quick work of it.” 

“All ready, sir. At least, I will be the moment my horse gets 
here. There go the men running to the stables now. ’ ’ 

1 1 Captain Stryker will send a sergeant and four men to report to 
you, and you are to go direct to Dunraven Kanch. The rest of the 
troop, with the Cheyennes, will scout the prairie to the east and south. 
’Twill soon be too dark to trail, but three of the Indians are going 
back on the horse’s track as far as they can. The adjutant is writing 
a note to the proprietor of the ranch,— I don’t know his name ” 

“His name is Maitland, sir.” 

“Is it ? Have you been there ? ’ ’ 

“I’ve been around one end of it, outside, but nowhere near the 
buildings. It’s all fenced in, sir, and the gates kept locked.” 

“What an incomprehensible proceeding for Texas! Wait a mo- 
ment while I speak to Mr. Farnham: he’s writing here at my desk. 
—Gentlemen, come in on the porch and sit down, will you not?” 

But they excused themselves, and hastened away to remove their 
full dress. Captain Lawrence had no need to call his wife. She bade 
her companion good-evening, thanked the colonel with a smiling 
glance for the pleasure the photographs had given her, and added a 
word of earnest hope that they might find the sergeant uninjured. 
Then she joined her husband, and together they walked quickly 
away. Mrs. Belknap and Mr. Perry were left for the moment alone. 

“Can you walk home with me?” she asked, in her low, modulated 
tones, the great, heavily-lashed, swimming dark eyes searching his 


164 


DUNHAVEN RANCH. 


face. “I have not seen yon since they broke in upon our talk last 
evening, and there is something I want to ask yon. ’ ’ 

“ I’m sorry, Mrs. Belknap, but I’m on duty, you see,” was the young 
fellow’s answer as he gave a tug to the strap of his cartridge-belt. 
“ Can’t you ask me here ?” 

“ How can I ?” — and the eyes were full of pathetic disappointment, — 
“when they may come out any moment? You did not finish telling 
me about — about the tassel last night. I believe you were glad when 
they interrupted us. Were you not?” 

“ Nonsense, Mrs. Belknap ! I was having too good a time, — lots 
of fun.” 

“ Yes,” was the reproachful answer, “ that is what it was — to you, 
— mere fun. And now you are going away again, after promising to 
come in this evening.” 

“ I have to go, Mrs. Belknap. Why, I want to go. Haven’t you 
heard what has happened, — about Sergeant Gwynne ?” 

“ Oh, yes, it is your duty, of course ; but how unlucky !” And 
the pretty face was drooping with its weight of disappointment and 
sadness. She leaned against the railing near his gauntlet-covered hand, 
the dark eyes pensively downcast, the dark lashes sweeping her soft, 
flushing cheek. “And to-morrow you are on guard,” she presently 
continued. 

“ Yes, unless some one has to go on for me, — in case we are not 
back in the morning in time.” 

“ Then it’s good-by, I suppose,” she said, lifting her eyes once more 
to his. “ After to-morrow there will be little chance of seeing you. 
Mrs. Page will be here by that time.” 

Mr. Perry looked at his fair companion with a glance that told 
of much perturbation of spirit. Mrs. Page was an old and cherished 
friend of Mrs. Belknap’s,— so the latter had always said, — and now 
she was coming to visit her from a station in the Indian Territory. 
Just why her coming should prevent his seeing Mrs. Belknap or her 
seeing him was more than the tall subaltern could understand. On 
the brink of an unpardonable solecism, on the very ragged edge of a 
blundering inquiry, he was saved — in her estimation — by the sudden 
return of the orderly and the reappearance of the colonel. 

“ I’ve been to the hospital, sir, and to the doctor’s quarters : lie’s 
not there. They say that’s him, sir, riding off y wider.” And the 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 1 65 

orderly pointed to a faint speck just visible in the waning twilight, far 
away southeastward beyond the Monee. 


VI. 

Twilight still hovered over the broad expanse of prairie when 
Lieutenant Perry and his little party, after a brisk canter down the 
valley, reached the barbed enclosure of Dunraven, and the young com- 
mander led unhesitatingly to the gate-way on the northern line. A 
sergeant of his troop and two private soldiers were his escort at the 
moment ; a third man, by direction of Colonel Brainard, had been senl 
at the gallop in pursuit of the distant speck which the orderly had 
pronounced to be Dr. Quin, and the instructions which this messenger 
bore were to the effect that the post surgeon should ride by the most 
direct route and join Lieutenant Perry at the north gate of the ranch. 
In the few minutes which elapsed between the announcement of the 
doctor’s departure on his solitary and unexpected ride and the arrival 
of the little mounted escort, Perry had time to tell the colonel some- 
thing of the situation down the Monee and to make a rough sketch of 
the enclosure and the distant buildings. The direction taken by the 
doctor, up to the moment when the black speck disappeared from view 
in the waning light, would be very apt to lead him, if he rode far 
enough, to some point on the wire fence which spanned the western 
limit of Dunraven ; but that point would be at least five or six miles 
south of the valley. Possibly there was no gate-way north of that, — 
certainly no trail was visible on the prairie, — but the more Mr. Perry 
thought of the matter as he rode away the more was he satisfied that 
somewhere far down that western line there was an entrance where 
Dr. Quin, at least, had the “ open sesame.” All the grazing thus far 
had been done north of the Monee ; all the hunting and coursing, too, 
had been found best in every way far out. to the north and east of the 
post ; and so it happened that no one of the — th seemed to have ac- 
quired any knowledge of the English ranch. What the local infantry 
command was able to tell of it was purely hearsay. None of the 
officers had ever penetrated the charmed enclosure, and no one of the 
soldiers was known to have done so. Perry remembered hearing that 
the Eleventh while stationed there had made some scouts and expedi* 
tions out to the south, and that some of these had completely circled 
the broad lands of the estate, finding well-travelled roads leading from 


166 


DUN RAVEN RANCH, 


its southern boundaries to the settlements two days’ journey farther 
towards the Gulf ; but nowhere was there open or unguarded gap. 
Cattle with the Dunraven brand roamed the breaks and prairies far 
away towards the eastern streams, and crossed even the broad trail over 
which the great Texas “ drive” of “ long-horns,” year after year, passed 
up across the valley of the Washita. Other cattle, of choicer breed, 
were carefully herded within the wire enclosure; but, thanks to the 
vigilance of the manager and the exertions of his few skilled assistants, 
none of their wandering chattels seemed ever to venture up-stream to- 
wards the fort, and all excuse for a visit there was apparently guarded 
against. These meagre points he had gathered from the remarks of 
one or two officers who had come to see him off, and, ignorant of his 
morning expedition, to offer suggestions as to his best course. 

His orders were, in case nothing was seen or heard of Sergeant 
Gwynne while on the way thither, to enter the enclosure and make in- 
quiries at the ranch itself. Meantime, the Cheyenne scouts had been 
hastily summoned from their lodges along the Monee just above the 
post and sent scurrying forth upon the prairie to trail the horse’s foot- 
prints and so work back as far as possible before darkness interposed. 
Captain Stryker, too, and a dozen of his best men, had mounted and 
ridden forth in long, scattered line across the eastern plain ; and these 
parties were all five miles out from the post before nightfall fairly hid 
them from view. 

One thing the sergeant had to tell Mr. Perry which confirmed him 
in the belief that the sooner they got to Dunraven the quicker they 
would be at the scene of their comrade’s mishap, whatever that might 
prove to be. He had had no time himself to visit the stables and ex- 
amine the wounds on the horse’s flank, but as they rode away from 
Rossiter he turned in the saddle and called the non-commissioned officer 
to his side. 

“ What sort of wound is it, sergeant, that made that horse bleed so, 
— bullet or knife ?” 

“ It doesn’t look like either, sir. There are several of them, — jagged 
scratches in the shoulder and along the flank, like thorns or nails ” 

“ Or barbed wire ?” suggested the lieutenant, suddenly. 

“Yes, sir, like as not; though we hadn’t thought of that, not 
knowing of any fences hereabouts.” 

“ You’ll see fence enough presently. That’s where we’ll find Ser- 


1) UNRAVEN RANCH . 


167 


geant Gwynne, too. Let your horses out a little. I want to get there 
before dark, if possible.” 

It was dark in the timber, Lowever, as they rode through and 
reined up at the gate-way. It would be half an hour at the very least, 
thought Perry, before the doctor could join them, if he came at all. It 
was by no means certain that the messenger had overtaken him, and, 
even if he had, was it probable that the doctor would be in great haste 
to come? His mysterious movements of the morning, his undoubted 
connection with the night-signals from the ranch, the fact that he had 
given his commanding officer no inkling whatever of these outside inter- 
ests of his, all tended to make Perry distrustful of their post surgeon. 
He would not speak of it to a soul, or hint at the possibility of such 
a thing, until he had evidence that was indisputable, but the young 
officer was sorely perplexed by these indications of some secret and 
unlawful enterprise on the part of their new comrade, and he doubted 
his sympathy in the mission on which they had been hurried forth. 

Dismounting to examine the gate while still pondering this matter 
over in his mind, Perry found it locked as securely as he had left it 
in the morning. The sergeant and his men dismounted, too, at a low- 
spoken word from their officer, and stood at the heads of their panting 
horses, looking in silent surprise at the strong and impervious barrier 
that crossed their track. 

“ The gate is locked and the fence impassable, sergeant,” said Mr. 
Perry. “ We cannot get our horses through or over unless we hack 
down a post or two. You can’t cut such wire as this with any tool 
we’ve got. I’ll leave Nolan here with you and go on to the ranch on 
foot : it lies about half a mile to the south. If the doctor comes, he 
can follow me. If I do not come or send back in half an hour from 
this, you three come after me, for I’ll need you.” 

With that, slowly and carefully, and not without a muttered mal- 
ediction on the stinging barbs, Mr. Perry wriggled through between 
the middle wires, and finally stood within the enclosure, readjusting his 
waist-belt and holster. Then he took his revolver from its leathern 
case, carefully tried the hammer and cylinder, saw that each chamber 
was loaded, and turned once more to the sergeant. 

“ Your pistols all right ?” 

“ All right, sir, — fresh loaded when we started.” 

“ I don’t know that they’ll be necessary at all, sergeant, but this la 
a queer place, from what I’ve heard and the little I’ve seen. Keep 


168 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


your eyes and ears open. Captain Stryker and some of the men may 
come down into the valley if they find no trace of Gwynne up on the 
prairie. Watch for the doctor, too.” 

Then, through the deepening twilight he strode, following the trail 
that led southward up the slopes. Five minutes* brisk walk along 
the springy turf brought him to the crest and in view of the lights at 
the ranch-buildings, still some six or seven hundred yards away. All 
through the eastern sky the stars were peeping forth, and even through 
the gleam of the twilight in the west two brilliant planets shone like 
molten gold. All was silence and peace on every hand, and, but for 
those guiding, glimmering lights at the south, all would have told of 
desolation. Behind him in the valley waited his faithful men. Far 
beyond the Monee, out on the northern prairie, he knew that comrades 
were scouring the face of the earth in search of their missing brother. 
Up the stream, somewhere behind them, the Cheyennes were patiently 
trailing the hoof- tracks as long as the light should last ; he knew that 
search must be at an end by this time, and that some of their number, 
at least, would be riding down to join his men. Whoever found the 
sergeant was to fire three shots in air : the signal could be heard a long 
way in that intense stillness, and that signal was to recall the searching- 
parties. Every step brought him deeper into the darkness of the night, 
yet nearer and nearer those twinkling lights ahead. Already he could 
distinguish those in the main building, the homestead, from those more 
distant still, in the store-rooms and office. Far over among the stables 
and corrals he heard the deep baying of hounds, and he wondered if 
it was to be his luck to encounter any enterprising watch-dogs. An 
English bull-terrier would be a lively entertainer, thought he, with 
instinctive motion towards the flap of his holster ; and it would be a 
wonder if a ranch that surrounded itself with fifty miles of barbed 
wire fencing were not further environed by a pack of watch-dogs of the 
most approved and belligerent breed. Once having passed the distant 
barrier of that gate on the Monee, however, his way was unimpeded, 
and, to all appearance, utterly unmarked ; he had arrived within fifty 
yards of the foremost building, the homestead, before he was brought 
to a halt. Then he stopped short, surprised, half credulous, and all 
attention, listening to the “ concord of sweet sounds” that came floating 
from the open casement somewhere along the east front of the big, 
gloomy house. 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


169 


“One part of the story verified, by Jove ! It’s a piano, — and well 
played, too.” 

Full a minute he stood there listening. Perry was a dancer whose 
nimble feet moved blithely to any measured, rhythmical strains, and 
a soldier whose soul was stirred by martial music, but with Chopin and 
Mendelssohn, Bach and Rubinstein, he had but slight acquaintance. 
That any one should be playing a piano here on the borders of the 
Llano Estacado was in itself sufficient cause for wonderment ; that the 
invisible performer was playing — and playing with exquisite taste and 
feeling — one of the loveliest of the “Lieder ohne Worte,” the Spring 
Song, was a fact that conveyed no added astonishment to his soul : he 
never knew it until one sweet night long after. 

However, matters more pressing than music demanded Mr. Perry’s 
attention just here. He had reached Dunraven, after all. Neither 
dog nor man had challenged. Once within those barbed and frowning 
barriers, all the encircling objects spoke of security and rest. Far 
away towards the corrals he heard the sound of voices in jolly conver- 
sation ; a rich, melodious laugh rang out on the cool evening air ; he 
heard some one shouting genial good-night to somebody else, and then 
the slam of a distant door. Presently a light popped out from a win- 
dow in what he believed to be a storehouse, and all was still again. 
Even the piano had ceased. Now was his time, thought Perry ; and 
so, boldly mounting the steps, he stood upon a dark portico and strode 
to the black shadow in the wall before him where he knew the main 
door- way must be. It was his intention to knock or ring. Up-stairs 
dim lights were shining through the open windows, but on this front 
of the ground-floor all was darkness. His gauntleted hand felt all 
the face of the door in search of knob or knocker, but nothing of the 
kind was there ; neither was there such a thing on either door-post. 
Just as he decided to hammer with his clinched fist, the piano began 
again. He waited for a pause, but none came. This time the music 
was vehement and spirited, and no banging of his on oaken door-way 
would be audible against such rivalry. Uncertain what to do, he con- 
cluded to reconnoitre the eastern front. A few steps brought him to 
the corner, and there lay the veranda before him, bathed at its farther 
end in a flood of light that streamed from one opened Venetian window, 
and through this curtained aperture poured the grand tones of the 
melody. “ That fellow can rattle more music out of a piano than any 
man I ever heard,” muttered Mr. Perry to himself, as he strode down 
H 15 


170 


DUNBAVEN RANCH . 


the wooden gallery. “ Wonder if it’s that boss cow-pnncher I met 
this morning.” Another moment and he stood at the open window, 
rooted to the spot, and with his frank blue eyes fairly starting from 
their sockets in amazement at the sight that met them, all unprepared. 

Across a spacious room, hung with rich curtains, carpeted with 
costly rugs of Oriental make, furnished with many a cosey chair and 
couch, and tables covered with dainty bric-a-brac, and shelves with 
tempting books, lighted by several large and beautiful astral lamps, 
some with colored shades of crimson and gold and delicate tint of 
blue, there stood close to the opposite wall a large piano of the class 
known as the 1 ‘ grand, ’ ’ rare enough among the railway towns west 
of the Mississippi States, but utterly unlooked for here, a week’s 
long march from the nearest of the Texan railways. That in itself 
were sufficient cause for much surprise, notwithstanding the meas- 
ure of preparation he had had in Mrs. Lawrence’s remarks. 

The sight that wellnigh took his breath away was something far 
more than the interior of a luxurious and beautifully-appointed 
room. Nothing that had been said or hinted prepared him in the 
faintest degree for the apparition, facing him, seated at the piano, 
of a performer utterly unlike the “ cow-puncher” whom he had met 
in the morning. The “fellow” now bending over the key-board was 
a young, exquisitely fair, and graceful woman. Even as he stood 
there in the full glare of the parlor lights, she lifted up a pair of 
soft, shaded, lustrous eyes and saw him. 

The music stopped with sudden shock. Tannhauser was undone. 
The firm, white, shapely hands fell nerveless in her lap ; a pallor as 
of faintness shot over the wild-eyed face, only to be instantly suc- 
ceeded by a flush that surged up to the very brows. Startled she 
might have been for an instant ; scared,— not a bit of it ! One in- 
stant only of hesitation, then she rose and swept gallantly forward 
to meet him. 

Instinctively Perry’s hand went up to the visor of his forage-cap 
and bared the bright, curling crop of hair. Speechless with amaze, 
he could only bow before her and wait her question ; but it was a 
moment before she could speak. Brave as she was, the sudden ap-i 
parition of a stranger staring in upon her solitude from an open] 
casement was a shock that served to paralyze the vocal cords. He 
could see that she was making' gallant effort to control the tremor 
that had seized upon her and to inquire the purpose of his coming. 
He could see, too, that the sight of the uniform had reassured her, 


DVNRAVEN RANCH. 171 

and that there was neither indignation nor displeasure in her beau- 
tiful eyes. Reserve, of course, he expected. 

“ Did you wish to see any one ?” was finally the form her question 
took ; and Perry had time to comment to himself, “ English, by Jove !” 
before he answered, — 

“ I did ; but let me first ask your pardon for this intrusion. I ha d 
no idea there was a woman at Dunraven. My knocking at the front 
brought no answer, and, hearing the piano, I followed the veranda. 
Believe me, I am as surprised as you could possibly have been.” 

Perry’s voice was something greatly in his favor. It was modu- 
lated and gentle when in conversation, and with even a caressing tone 
about it when he spoke to women. Evidently the sound was not un- 
welcome to this one. She stood erect, her fingers interlacing as she 
.'lasped her hands in front of her and looked him well over with her 
brave eyes. The color ebbed and flowed through the creamy whiteness 
of her face, but the roses were winning every moment, — the red roses 
of the house of Lancaster. 

“ And — you wished to see — whom ?” she presently asked, with cour- 
tesy in every word. 

“ Why, I hardly know,” answered Perry, with a smile that showed 
his white teeth gleaming through the curling blond moustache. “ A 
sergeant of my troop has been missing since morning. His horse came 
back to the fort just as we were on parade at sunset, bleeding and 
without his rider. We have searching-parties out all over the prairie, 
and I was ordered to come here to the ranch to make inquiries.” 

She hesitated a moment, — thinking. 

•• My father is at home, but I fear he is not well enough to see you. 
Mr. Ewen is with him, and he might know. Will you — would you 
step in one moment, and I will go and ask ?” 

“ Thank you very much. I wish you would not trouble yourself. 
I presume I can go over to those stable-buildings, or wherever it is the 
men sleep : they would be most apt to know if our sergeant has been 
seen.” 

“ Oh, no ! it is no trouble ; besides, they are all asleep over there by 
this time, I fancy. They have to be out so very early, don’t you know ?” 

But Perry had stepped inside even as he offered to go elsewhere, — - 
a fact that the girl had not been slow to notice, for a quizzical little 
shadow of a smile hovered for an instant at the corners of her pretty 


172 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


mouth. “ Pray sit down,” she said, as she vanished into an adjoining 
room, leaving Ned Perry standing gazing after her, spell-bound. 

He listened to the swish of her trailing skirts through the dimly- 
lighted room beyond, through an invisible hall-way, and then to the 
quick pit-a-pat of her feet up some uncarpeted stairway. He heard 
her moving quickly, lightly, along the corridor of the upper story until 
the foot-falls were lost at the rear of the house, then a distant tap upon 
a door- way, and a soft voice, barely audible, calling, “ Papa.” He heard 
her speak again, as though in response to inquiry from within ; he 
heard her raise her voice, as though to repeat an answer to a previous 
question, and this time her words were distinct. “ An officer from the 
fort,” she announced ; and then followed sensation. 

He heard a door quickly opened ; he heard men’s voices in low, 
eager, excited talk; he heard her sweet tones once more, as though in 
expostulation, saying something about the sergeant, lost or wounded, 
and they were merely inquiring for him ; he heard a stern, harsh in- 
junction of “ Silence ! that will do !” some quick, hurrying footsteps, 
a man’s spurred boots descending some staircase at the back of the 
house, a colloquy aloft in fainter tones, and then — closing doors and 
silence. He waited five — ten minutes, and still no one came ; but the 
murmur of voices in subdued but earnest controversy was again audible 
on the second floor, and at last a door was opened and he heard the 
same stern tones that had commanded her silence before, and this time 
they said, — 

“ That is entirely my affair ! I will see the gentleman myself, and 
let him know my opinion of this impudent and — and — burglarious 
intrusion.” 

“ Whew !” whistled Mr. Perry to himself at sound of these men- 
acing words. “ This is bearding the lion in his den with a vengeance ! 
Now trot out your * Douglas in his hall,’ and let’s see what it all means. 
I’ve seen the girl, anyhow, and he can’t take that back, even if he turns 
me out.” 

He heard a heavy step, accented by the sharp, energetic prodding 
of a cane ; it came slowly along the hall, slowly and majestically down 
the stairs, slowly into the lower front room, and presently there loomed 
forth from the darkness into the broad glare of the astrals at the hang- 
ing portieres the figure of a tall, gray-haired, spectacled, slimly-built, * 
and fragile-looking Englishman, erect as pride and high spirit could 
hold a man against the ravages of age and rheumatism ; sharp, stern, 


DUX RAVEN RANCH. 


173 


and imperious of mood, as every glance and every feature plainly 
told ; vehement and passionate, unless twitching lips and frowning 
brows and angry, snapping eyes belied him ; a man who had suffered 
much, unless the deep lines and shadows under eyes and mouth meant 
nothing but advancing years ; a man who entered full of wrath and 
resentment at this invasion of his privacy, — this forcing of his guarded 
lines ; and yet — a gentleman, unless Ned Perry’s instincts were all of 
little worth. 

The young soldier had been standing by a centre-table, coolly 
scanning the pictures on the walls, and determining to present a rather 
exaggerated picture of nonchalance as reward for the hostile language of 
the proprietor of Dunraven. He expected to hear an outburst of in- 
vective when that gentleman reached the room ; but no sooner had he 
passed the portiere than he halted short, and Mr. Perry, turning sud- 
denly, was amazed at the pale, startled, yet yearning look in his quiv- 
ering face. The moment the young man confronted him there came as 
sudden a change. It was with evident effort that he controlled himself, 
and then, after brief searching study of Perry’s face, accosted him, — 
coldly and with sarcastic emphasis : 

“ To what circumstance do I owe the honor of this intrusion ?” 

“ I regret you so consider it, Mr. Maitland, — as I believe you to 

be ” The old gentleman bowed with stately dignity. “ One of our 

men, a sergeant, rode down this way quite early this morning and failed 
to return. His horse came back, bleeding, at sunset, and we feared 
some accident or trouble. Searching-parties are out all over the 
prairies, and the colonel ordered me to inquire here.” 

“ Does your colonel take us for banditti here, and ascribe your de- 
sertions and accidents to our machinations?” 

“ Far from it, sir, but rather as a hospitable refuge to which the 
injured man had been conveyed,” answered Perry, with a quiet smile, 
determined to thaw the hauteur of Dunraven’s lord if courtesy of 
manner could effect it. 

“ He is utterly mistaken, then,” answered the Englishman, “ and I 
resent — I resent, sir, this forcing of my gates after the explicit un- 
derstanding we had last year. As a soldier I presume you had to obey 
your orders ; but I beg you to tell your colonel that his order was an 
affront to me personally, in view of what has passed between us.” 

“ Nothing has passed between you, Mr. Maitland,” answered Perry, 
a little tartly now. “ We have reached Fort Kossiter only within the 

15 * 


174 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


last fortnight, and know nothing whatever of your understandings 
with previous commanders. Permit me to ask you one question, and 
I will retire. Have you heard anything of our sergeant ?” 

“ Nothing, sir. I would hardly be apt to hear, for my people here 
are enjoined to keep strictly to our limits, and all we ask of our neigh- 
bors is that they keep to theirs. I presume you have destroyed my 
fences, sir, in order to effect an entrance.” 

“ Upon my word, Mr. Maitland, you make me rather regret that I 
did not ; but I had the decency to respect what I ha .i happened to hear 
of your wishes, and so left my horse and my men rtside, and footed 
it a good half-mile in the dark ” 

“ Ah ! that sounds very like it !” replied Mr. Maitland, with 
writhing lips, for at this moment there came the dull thunder of 
rapidly-advancing hoof-beats, and before either man could speak again 
three troopers with a led horse — all four steeds panting from their 
half-mile race — reined up in front of the eastern portico in the full 
glare of the lights, and the sergeant’s voice was heard eagerly hailing 
his lieutenant. 

“ My luck again !” groaned Perry. “ I told them to come in half 
an hour if they didn’t hear from me, and of course they came.” 


VII 

For a moment there was silence in the brightly-illuminated room. 
With flushed face and swollen veins and twitching, clutching hands, old 
Maitland stood there glaring at the young officer. Before Perry could 
speak again, however, and more fully explain the untoward circum- 
stance, there came a rush of hurrying footsteps without, and the sound 
of excited voices. The next minute they heard an eager, angry chal- 
lenge, and Perry recognized the voice of the overseer or manager whom 
he had met in the morning. 

“ What do you fellows want here ?” was his brusque and loud in- 
quiry as he sprang from the piazza and stood confronting the sergeant, 
who was quietly seated in the saddle, and the question was promptly 
echoed by three or four burly men who, in shirt-sleeves and various 
styles of undress, came tumbling in the wake of their leader and stood 
now a menacing group looking up at the silent troopers. 

If there be one thing on earth that will stir an Irishman’s 60ul to 
its inmost depths and kindle to instant flame the latent heat of his pug- 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


175 


nacity, it is just such an inquiry in the readily recognized aaent of the 
hated “ Sassenach.” Perry recognized the danger in a flash, and, 
springing through the open casement, interposed between the hostile 

parties. 

“ Not a word, Sergeant Leary. Here, Mr. Manager, these men 
simply obeyed orders, and I am responsible for any mistake. No harm 
was intended ” 

“ Harm !” broke in one of the ranchmen, with a demonstratively 
loud laugh, “ Harm be blowed ! What harm could you do, I’d like 
to know ? If the master’ll only say the word, we’d break your heads 
in a minute.” 

“ Quiet, now, Dick !” interposed the overseer ; but the other hands 
growled approval, and Perry’s eyes flashed with anger at the insult. 
What reply he might have made was checked by the sight of Sergeant 
Leary throwing himself from the saddle and tossing his reins to one 
of the men. He knew well enough what that meant, and sprang in- 
btantly in front of him. 

“ Back to your horse, sir ! Back, instantly !” for the sergeant’s 
face was fierce with rage. “ Mount, I say !” added the lieutenant, as 
the sergeant still hesitated, and even the sense of discipline could not 
keep the mounted troopers from a muttered word of encouragement. 
Slowly, wrathfully, reluctantly, the soldier obeyed, once turning furi- 
ously back as jeering taunts were hurled at him from among the 
ranchers, unrebuked by their manager. “Now move off with your 
men to the gate. Leave my horse, and wait for me there. Go !” added 
the young officer, sternly ; and, with bitter mortification at heart and a 
curse stifled on his quivering lips, the Irishman turned his horse’s head 
away and slowly walked him in the indicated direction. 

“ Now, Mr. Manager,” said Perry, turning fiercely upon the younger 
Englishman, “ I have done my best to restrain my men : do you look 
out for yours. You have allowed them to insult me and mine, and 
you may thank your stars that discipline prevailed with my people, 
though you have nothing of the kind here.” 

“ Your men have cut down our fences, by your order, I presume,” 
said the manager, coolly, “ and it’s lucky for them they got out of the 
way when they did. We have a right to protect our property and eject 
intruders, and ” 

“ I came here to inquire for a missing man, — a right even an Eng- 
lishman cannot deny us on these prairies. We had excellent reason to 


176 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 


believe him injured, and thought, not knowing you for the inhospitable 
gang you are, that he might have been carried in here for treatment : 
there was no other place. Your proprietor tells me he is not here. 
After what I’ve seen of your people, I have reason to be still more 
anxious about him. Scant mercy a single trooper would have had at 
their hands. Now I ask you , Do you know or have you heard of a 
cavalry soldier being seen around here during the day ?” 

Perry was standing holding his horse by the curb as he spoke, facing 
the parlor windows and confronting the angry group of ranchmen. 
Within, though nearer the window than he had left him, was the bent 
form of the owner of Dunraven, leaning on his cane and apparently 
impatiently striving to make himself heard as he came forward. Be- 
fore the manager could answer, he was compelled to turn about and 
rebuke his men, two of whom were especially truculent and menacing. 
Finally he spoke : 

“ I have heard nothing, but I tell you frankly that if any of your 
men have been prowling around here it’s more than probable some one 
has got hurt. Has there been any trouble to-day, men ?” he asked. 

“ By God, there will be if this ranch isn’t cleared in five minutes,” 
was the only answer. 

“ Don’t make an ass of yourself, Hoke,” growled the manager. 
“ They are going quick enough.” 

“ 1 am going,” said Perry, swinging lightly into saddle ; “ and mind 
you this, sir : I go with well- warranted suspicion that some of these 
bullies of yours have been responsible for the non-appearance of my 
stable-sergeant. If he is not found this night, you may confidently 
look for another visit. I say that to you also, Mr. Maitland ; and you 
owe it to our forbearance that there has been no bloodshed here to-night.” 

Old Maitland’s tremulous tones were heard but a second in reply 
when he was interrupted by a coarse voice from the crowd of ranch- 
men, by this time increased to nearly a dozen men. Some of them 
were gathering about Perry as he sat in the saddle, and an applauding 
echo followed the loud interruption, — 

“ Give the swell a lift, Tummy : ’twill teach him better manners.” 

Almost instantly Perry felt his right foot grasped and a powerful 
form was bending at the stirrup. He had heard of the trick before. 
Many a time has the London cad unhorsed the English trooper, taken 
unawares, by hurling him with sudden lift from below. But Perry 
was quick and active as a cat. Seat and saddle, too, were in his favor. 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


177 


He simply threw his weight on the left foot and his bridle-hand upon 
the pommel, let the right leg swing over the horse’s back until re- 
leased from the brawny hand, then back it came as he settled again in 
the saddle, his powerful thighs gripping like a vise ; at the same 
instant, and before his assailant could duck to earth and slip out of the 
way, he had whipped out the heavy Colt’s revolver and brought its 
butt with stunning crash down on the ranchman’s defenceless head. 

There was instant rush and commotion. In vain old Maitland 
feebly piped his protests from the veranda ; in vain the overseer seized 
and held back one or two of the men and furiously called off the rest. 
Aided by the darkness which veiled them, the others made a simulta- 
neous rush upon the young officer and sought to drag him from his 
plunging horse. Perry held his pistol high in air, threatening with the 
butt the nearest assailant, yet loath to use further force. He was still 
in the broad glare of the parlor lights, — a conspicuous mark ; eager 
hands had grasped his bridle-rein at the very bit, and he could not 
break away ; and then missiles began to fly about his devoted head, and 
unless he opened fire he was helpless. While two men firmly held 
Nolan by the curb, half a dozen others were hurling from the ambush 
of darkness a scattering volley of wooden billets and chunks of coal. 
He could easily have shot down the men who held him. It was sore 
temptation, for already he had been struck and stung by unseen projec- 
tiles ; but just as the manager sprang forward and with vigorous cuffs 
induced the men to loose their hold on his rein, there came three horse- 
men charging full tilt back into the crowd, scattering the assailants 
right and left ; and, this time unrebuked, Sergeant Leary leaped from 
tbe saddle and with a rage of fierce delight pitched headlong into battle 
with the biggest ranchman in his way. And this was not all ; for 
behind them at rapid trot came other troopers, and in a moment the 
open space was thronged with eager, wondering comrades, — full half of 
Stryker’s company, — in whose overwhelming presence all thought of 
promiscuous combat seemed to leave the ranchmen. They slipped away 
in the darkness, leaving to their employers the embarrassment of ac- 
counting for their attack. Leary was still fuming with wrath and 
raging for further battle and shouting into the darkness fierce invective 
at*the vanished head of his opponent. He turned on the overseer him- 
self, and but for Perry’s stern and sudden prohibition would have had 
a round with him, but was forced to content himself with the informa- 
tion conveyed to all within hearing that he’d “ fight any tin min” the 
H* 


178 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


ranch contained if they’d only come out where the lieutenant couldn’t 
stop him. The troopers were making eager inquiry as to the cause of 
all the trouble, and, fearing further difficulty, Perry promptly ordered 
the entire party to “ fall in.” Silence and discipline were restored in a 
moment, and as the platoon formed rank he inquired of a sergeant how 
they came to be there. The reply was that it had grown so dark on 
the prairie that further search seemed useless, Captain Stryker and most 
of the men had been drawn off by signals from the Cheyennes up the 
valley towards the post, and these men, who had been beyond Dunraven 
on the northern prairie, were coming back along the Monee trail when 
they saw the lights and heard voices over at the lower shore. There 
they found Leary, who was excited about something, and before they 
had time to ask he suddenly shouted, “ They’re killin’ the lieutenant. 
Come on, boys !” and galloped off with his own party : so they fol- 
lowed. Perry quietly ordered them to leave a corporal and four men 
with him, and told the senior sergeant to march the others back to 
the post: he would follow in five minutes. Then he turned to the 
manager : 

“ You will have to put up with my keeping some of my men with 
me, in view of all the circumstances,” he said, coldly. “ But after this 
exhibition of lawlessness on the part of your people I do not propose 
to take any chances. I want to say to you that it is my belief that 
some of those ruffians you employ can tell what has become of our 
missing man, and that you will do well to investigate to-night. As to 
you, Mr. Maitland,” he said, turning to the old gentleman, who had 
sunk into a low easy-chair, “ much as I regret having disturbed your 
privacy and — that of the — ladies of your household, you will admit 
now that justice to my men and to the service demands that I should 
report my suspicions and my reception here to the commanding officer 
at Fort ftossiter.” 

There was no reply. 

“ I wish you good-night, sir,” said Perry ; but his eyes wandered 
in to the lighted parlor in search of a very different face and form,— 
and still there was no answer. 

The manager came back upon the piazza and stepped rapidly 
towards them. Perry quickly dismounted and bent down over the 
crouching figure. 

“ Why, here !” he suddenly exclaimed, “ your employer is faint, or, 
— something’s gone wrong.” 


BUN RAVEN RANCH. 


179 


“ Hush !” was the low-spoken, hurried answer of the Englishman. 
“Just bear a hand, will you, and help me lift him to yonder sofa?” 

Easily, between them, they bore the slight, attenuated form of the 
old man into the lighted parlor. A deathly pallor had settled on his 
face. His eyes were closed, and he seemed fallen into a deep swoon. 
Perry would have set a cushion under his head as they laid him down 
on a broad, easy couch, but the manager jerked it away, lowering the 
gray hairs to the very level of the back, so that the mouth gaped wide 
and looked like death itself. 

“Just steady his head in that position one minute, like a good 
fellow. I’ll be back in a twinkling,” said the manager, as he darted 
from the room and leaped hurriedly up the hall stairway. 

Perry heard him rap at a distant door apparently at the southwest 
angle of the big house. Then his voice was calling, “ Mrs. Cowan ! 
Mrs. Cowan ! would yen have the goodness to come down quick ? the 
master’s ill.” 

Then, before any answer could be given, another door opened aloft, 
and trailing skirts and light foot-falls came flashing down the stairway. 
Almost before he could turn to greet her, she was in the room again, 
and with quick, impulsive movement lia^ thrown herself on her knees 
by his side. 

“ Oh, papa ! dear father ! I was afraiv of this ! Let me take his 
head on my arm, so,” she hurriedly murmured ; “and would you step in 
the other room and fetch me a little brandy ? ’Tis there on the side- 
board.” 

Perry sprang to do her bidding, found a heavy decanter on the 
great oaken buffet, half filled a glass, and brought it with some water 
back to the lounge. She stretched forth her hand, and, thanking him 
with a grateful look from her sweet, anxious eyes, took the liquor and 
carried it carefully to her father’s ashen lips. 

“ Can I not help you in some way ? Is there no one I can call ?” 
asked the young soldier, as he bent over her. 

“ Mr. Ewen has gone for her, — our old nurse, I mean. She does 
not seem to be in her room, and I fear she has gone over to her son’s, — 
a young fellow at the storehouse. Mr. Ewen has followed by this 
time.” 

She dipped her slender white fingers in the water and sprinkled the 
forehead and eyelids of the prostrate man. A feeble moan, followed 
by a deep-drawn sigh, was the only response. More brandy pouied 


180 


D UNEA VEN RANCH. 


into the gaping mouth seemed only to strangle and distress him. No 
sign of returning consciousness rewarded her effort. 

“ If Mrs. Cowan would only come ! She has never failed us be- 
fore ; and we so lean upon her at such a time.” 

“ Pray tell me which way to go. Surely I can find her,” urged 
Perry. 

“ Mr. Ewen must be searching for her now, or he would have 
returned by this time ; and I dread being alone. I have never been 
alone with father when he has had such a seizure.” 

Perry threw himself on his knees beside her, marvelling at the 
odd fate that had so suddenly altered all the conditions of his unlooked- 
for visit. He seized one of the long, tremulous hands that lay so 
nerveless on the couch, and began rapid and vigorous chafing and 
slapping. Somewhere he had read or heard of women being restored 
from fainting-spells by just such means. Why should it not pre- 
vail with the old man ? He vaguely bethought him of burnt 
feathers, and looked about for the discarded pillow, wondering if it 
might not be a brilliant idea to cut it open and extract a handful and 
set it ablaze under those broad and eminently aristocratic nostrils 
Happily, he was spared excuse for further experiment. He felt that 
life was returning to the hand he was so energetically grooming, and 
that feeble but emphatic protest against such heroic treatment was 
manifest. 

“ I think he’s coming to,” he said. “ He’s trying to pull away. 
Shall I keep on ?” 

“ Yes, do ! Anything rather than have him lie in this death-like 
swoon.” 

Obediently he clung to his prize, rubbing and chafing hard, despite 
increasing tug and effort. Then came another feeble, petulant moan, 
and the hollow eyes opened just as rapid foot-falls were heard on the 
veranda without and Mr. Ewen rushed breathless and ruddy-faced into 
the room. 

“ Where on earth can that woman have gone?” he panted. “I 
cannot find her anywhere. Is he better, Miss Gladys ?” 

“ Reviving, I think, thanks to Mr. thanks to you,” she said, 

turning her eyes full upon the kneeling figure at her side and sending 
Perry’s heart up into his throat with delight at the gratitude and kind- 
ness in her glance. She was striving with one hand to unfasten the 
scarf and collar at the old man’s neck, but making little progress. 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


181 


“ Let me help you,” eagerly said Perry. “ That, at least, is more 
in my line.” And somehow their fingers touched as he twisted at the 
stubborn knot. She drew her hand away then, but it was gently, not 
abruptly done, and he found time to note that too, and bless her for it. 

“ I hate to seem ungracious, you know, after all that’s happened,” 
said Mr. Ewen, “ but I fear ’twill vex him awfully if he should find 
you in here when he comes to. He has had these attacks for some time 
past, and I think he’s coming through all right. See !” 

Old Maitland was certainly beginning to open his eyes again and 
look vacantly around him. 

“ Better leave him to Miss Gladys,” said the overseer, touching the 
young fellow on the shoulder. Perry looked into her face to read her 
wishes before he would obey. A flush was rising to her cheek, a cloud 
settling about her young eyes, but she turned, after a quick glance at 
her father. 

“ I cannot thank you enough — now,” she said, hesitatingly. “ Per- 
haps Mr. Ewen is right. You — you deserve to be told the story of his 
trouble, you have been so kind. Some day you shall understand, — 
soon, — and not think unkindly of us.” 

“ Indeed I do not now,” he protested. 

“And — whom are we to thank? — your name, I mean?” she 
timidly asked. 

“ I am Mr. Perry, of the — th Cavalry. We have only come to 
Fort Rossiter this month.” 

“ And I am Miss Maitland. Some day I can thank you.” And 
she held forth her long, slim hand. He took it very reverently and 
bowed over it, courtier-like, longing to say something that might fit the 
occasion ; but before his scattered senses could come to him there was 
another quick step at the veranda, and a voice that sounded strangely 
familiar startled his ears : 

“ Gladys ! What has happened ?” And there, striding to the sofa 
with the steps of one assured of welcome and thoroughly at home in 
those strange precincts, came Dr. Quin. 

VIII. 

It was very late that night — nearly midnight — when the colonel, 
seated on his veranda and smoking a cigar, caught sight of a cavalry 
sergeant hurriedly passing his front gate. The main searching-parties 

16 


182 


I> UNRAVEN RANCH 


had long since come home, unsuccessful; Lieutenant Perry had re- 
turned and made report that the people at Dunraven denied having 
seen or heard anything of Gwynne, that both proprietor and manager 
had treated his visit as an affront, and that he had had much difficulty 
in preventing a fracas between his men and a gang of rough fellows 
employed at the ranch, that finally Mr. Maitland had fallen back in a 
swoon, and that he had left him to the care of Dr. Quin, who arrived 
soon after the occurrence. The colonel had been greatly interested and 
somewhat excited over the details of Perry’s adventure as that young 
gentleman finally gave them, for at first he was apparently averse to 
saying much about it. Little by little, however, all his conversation 
with Maitland and Ewen was drawn out, and the particulars of his 
hostile reception. The colonel agreed with him that there was grave 
reason to suspect some of the ranch-people of knowing far more of 
Sergeant G Wynne’s disappearance than they would tell ; and finally, 
seeing Perry’s indisposition to talk further, and noting his preoccupa- 
tion and apparent depression of spirits, he concluded that between 
fatigue and rasped nerves the young fellow would be glad to go to bed : 
so he said, kindly, — 

“ Well, I won’t keep you, Perry : you’re tired out. I’ll sit up and 
see the doctor when he gets back and have a talk with him, then decide 
what steps we will take in the morning. I’ll send a party down the 
valley at daybreak, anyway. May I offer you some whiskey, or a 
bottle of beer ?” 

“ Thank you, colonel, I believe not to-night. A bath and a nap 
will set me all right, and I’ll be ready to start out first thing in the 
morning. Good-night, sir.” 

But Colonel Brainard could not go to sleep. The garrison had 
“ turned in,” all except the guard and Captain Stryker. That officer 
had returned an hour after dark, and, getting a fresh horse, had started 
out again, going down the south side of the Monee to search the timber 
with lanterns, the Cheyenne scouts having reported that Gwynne’s horse 
had come up that way. He had been missed by Mr. Perry, who gal- 
loped up the trail to catch the platoon before it reached the post, and 
the colonel, now that he had heard the lieutenant’s story, was im- 
patiently awaiting his return. Up to within a few minutes of mid- 
night, however, neither Stryker nor the doctor had come ; dim lights 
were burning in both their quarters and at the guard-house. Every- 
where else the garrison seemed shrouded in darkness. Catching sigh! 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


183 . 


of the yellow chevrons as they flitted through the flood of light that 
poured from his open door- way, the colonel instantly divined that this 
must be a sergeant of Stryker's troop going in search of his captain, 
and promptly hailed him : 

“ What is it, sergeant ? Any news ?" 

“ Yes, sir," answered the soldier, halting short. “ Sergeant G Wynne’s 
oorne back. I was going to the captain's to report." 

“ How did he get back. Isn't he injured?" 

“ He says he's had a fall, sir, and has been badly shaken up, but 
he walked in." 

“ Why, that's singular ! Did he meet none of the searching-par- 
ties ? — see none of their lights ?" 

“ I can't make out, sir. He's a little queer,— doesn't want to talk, 
sir. He asked if his horse got in all right, and went and examined 
the scratches, and seemed troubled about them ; but he doesn't say 
anything." 

“ Has he gone to the hospital ?" 

' “ No, sir : he'll sleep in his usual bunk at the stables to-night. He 

is only bruised and sore, he says. His face is cut and scratched and 
bound up in his handkerchief." 

“ Very well," said the colonel, after a moment's thought. “The 
captain will look into the matter when he gets back. You take your 
horse and ride down the south side of the valley and find the Chey- 
enne scouts. Captain Stryker is with them. Tell him the sergeant is 
home, safe." 

“Very well, sir." And the trooper saluted, faced about, and dis- 
appeared in the darkness ; while the colonel arose, and, puffing thought 
fully at his cigar, began pacing slowly up and down the piazza. He 
wished Stryker were home ; he wished Captain Lawrence were officer 
of the day, and, so, liable to come out of his quarters again : ho had 
heard just enough about that odd English ranch to make him feel dis- 
turbed and ill at ease. There had evidently been hostility between his 
predecessor and the proprietor of Dun raven, and very probably there 
had been bad blood between the men of the Eleventh Cavalry and the 
employees of the ranch : else why should there have been so unprovoked 
an assault upon the lieutenant this night? Then there were other 
things that gave him disquiet. Several officers had gathered upon th6 
piazza during the early evening ; they were mainly of his own regi 
meat, but Captain Belknap and two of the infantry subalterns were 


184 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


there ; Lawrence did not come. Of course the talk was about the 
incident of the evening, and, later, the rumors about Dunraven. All 
this was new to the cavalrymen : they had heard, as yet, nothing at all, 
and were not a little taken aback by the evident embarrassment and 
ominous silence of the three infantrymen, when the colonel turned 
suddenly cn Belknap with the question, — 

“ By the way, captain, I had no time to ask Lawrence, and it really 
did not occur to me until after he had gone, but — what did he mean 
by saying that Dr. Quin could tell us something about the people at 
Dunraven ?” 

Belknap turned red and looked uncomfortably at his two comrades, 
as though appealing to them for aid. The younger officers, however, 
would say nothing at all, and the colonel promptly saw that he had 
stumbled on some piece of garrison gossip. 

“ Never mind,” he said, with a kindly laugh. “ I don’t want to 
drag any stories out by the roots. The doctor can doubtless explain 
it all in good season.” 

“ Well, Colonel Brainard,” answered Belknap, bulkily, “to tell the 
truth, I really don’t know anything about it, and I don’t know any 
one who does , though I have heard some woman-talk about the post. 
The relations between Dr. Quin and some of the officers of the Eleventh 
were rather strained, and he is a somewhat reserved and secretive man. 
The stories were set afloat here last fall, and we had to hear more or 
less of them until the Eleventh went away this spring. We know 
only that Dr. Quin has been to Dunraven and the rest of us haven’t. 
Possibly some of the Eleventh were piqued because they had no such 
luck, or perhaps their ladies did not like it because Quin wouldn’t 
tell them anything about what he saw. At all events, he refused to 
talk on the subject at all, and allowed people to draw their own conclu- 
sions.” 

“He probably told his post commander,” suggested Lieutenant 
Farnham, who, as acting adjutant of the post and an aspirant for the 
adjutancy of the regiment, thought it a good opportunity of putting in 
a word as indicative of what he considered the bounden duty of an 
officer under like circumstances. 

“ Well, no, I fancy not,” replied Belknap. “ About the only thing 
we really do know is that, in a somewhat angry interview last fall, 
Colonel Stratton forbade Dr. Quin’s leaving the post or going to Du a- 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


185 


raven without his express permission. I happened to be in the office 
at the time.” 

“ W as it before or after that that he was said to go there so often ?” 
asked Farnham. 

“Well, both,” answered Belknap, reluctantly. “But understand 
me, Mr. Farnham, I know nothing whatever of the matter.” 

“ I should not suppose that Colonel Stratton would care to restrict 
his post surgeon from going thither if they needed his professional 
services,” said Colonel Brainard, pleasantly. 

“That was the point at issue, apparently,” answered Belknap. 
“ Colonel Stratton said that it was not on professional grounds that 
he went, and thereby seemed to widen the breach between them. Dr. 
Quin would not speak to the colonel after that, except when duty re- 
quired it.” 

The conversation changed here, and little more was said ; but Colonel 
Brainard could not help thinking of a matter that he carefully kept tc 
himself. It was not his custom to require his officers to ask permission 
to leave the garrison for a ride or hunt when they were to be absent 
from no duty, and only by day. Here it was midnight, as he 
thought it over, and the doctor had not returned, neither had he men- 
tioned his desire to ride away, although he had been with the colonel 
wellnigh an hour before parade. True, he had sent the doctor word to 
go and join Lieutenant Perry at the gate of Dunraven, and that would 
account for his detention ; but he knew that the surgeon was several 
miles away from his post and his patients at the moment that message 
was sent. 

Meantime, Perry, too, was having a communion with himself and 
finding it all vexation of spirit. All the way home the memory of 
that sweet English face was uppermost in his thoughts. He had been 
startled at the sight of a young and fair woman at Dunraven ; he had 
felt a sense of inexplicable rejoicing when she said to him, “ I am Miss 
Maitland ;” it would have jarred him to know that she was wife ; he 
was happy, kneeling by the side of the beautiful girl he had never seen 
before that very evening, and delighted that he could be of service to her. 
All this was retrospect worth indulging ; but then arose the black shadow 
on his vision. How came Dr. Quin striding in there as though “ native 
and to the manner born” ? — how came he to call her “ Gladys” ? Perry 
had been pondering over this matter for full half an hour on the 
homeward ride before he bethought him of Mrs. Lawrence’s remarks 

16 * 


186 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


about the signal-lights. One thing led to another in his recollection 
of her talk. The doctor answered the signals, — no one else ; the doctor 
and no one else was received at Dunraven ; the doctor had declined to 
answer any questions about the people at the ranch, — had been silent 
and mysterious, yet frequent in his visits. And then, more than all, 
what was that Mrs. Lawrence had said or intimated, that Mrs. Quin, 
a such a lovely woman, too,” had taken her children and left him early 
that spring, and all on account of somebody or something connected 
with Dunraven Ranch ? Good heavens ! It could not be “ Gladys.” 
And yet 

Instead of taking a bath and going to bed, Mr. Perry poked his 
head into Parke’s bachelor chamber as he reached the little cottage they 
shared in common. No Gladys disturbed the junior’s dreams, ap- 
parently, for he was breathing regularly, sleeping the sleep of the just; 
and so, finding no one to talk to and being in no mood to go to bed at 
an hour so comparatively early when he had so much to think about, 
Perry filled a pipe and perched himself in a big chair by the window- 
seat, intending to think it all over again. He was beginning to hate 
that doctor : he would have chafed at the idea of any bachelor’s being 
before him in an acquaintance with Gladys Maitland, but a married 
man, knowing her so well as to make his wife jealous and himself in- 
different to that fact, — knowing her so well as to drive “ such a lovely 
woman, too,” into taking her children and quitting the marital roof, — 
that was too much of a bad thing, and Perry was sore discomfited. 
He got up, impatient and restless, passed out to the little piazza in front 
of his quarters, and began pacing up and down, the glow from his corn- 
cob pipe making a fiery trail in the darkness. He would have been 
glad to go back to the colonel and keep watch with him ; but there was 
one thing connected with his visit to Dunraven that he could not bear 
to speak of, especially as those words of Mrs. Lawrence recurred again 
and again to his memory. He had not said one word — he did not 
want to tell — of Gladys Maitland. 

And so it happened that Perry, too, was awake and astir when the 
footsteps of the cavalry sergeant were heard on their way to Captain 
Stryker’s quarters. Listening, he noted that the soldier had halted at 
the colonel’s, held a brief conversation with that officer, and then turned 
back across the parade. Instantly divining that news had come of 
Sergeant Gwynne, Perry seized his forage-cap and hurried in pursuit. 
He overtook the trooper just beyond the guard-house, and went with 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


187 


him eagerly to the stables. A moment more, and he was bending 
over a soldier’s bedside in a little room adjoining the forage-shed 
and by the light of a dim stable-lantern looking down into the 
bruised and battered features of the non-commissioned officer whom 
he had pronounced of all others at Rossiter the most respected and 
highly thought of by the cavalry garrison. 

“Sergeant, I’m very sorry to see you so badly mauled,” said 
Perry. ‘ ‘ How on earth did it happen ? ’ ’ 

Gwynne turned his head painfully until the one unbandaged eye 
could look about and see that none of the stable-guard were within 
hearing, then back again and up into the sympathetic face of his 
young superior. 

“Lieutenant, I must tell you and the captain; and yet it is a 
matter I profoundly wish to keep as secret as possible, — the story of 
my day’s adventure, I mean.” 

“You need not tell me at all if you do not wish to,” said Perry; 
4 ‘ though I think it is due to yourself that the captain should know 
how it was you were gone all day and that your horse and you both 
came back in such condition.” 

“I understand, sir, fully,” answered Gwynne, respectfully. “I 
shall tell the captain the whole story, if he so desires. Meantime, I 
can only ask that no one else be told. If the men in the troop had an 
inkling of the true story there would be endless trouble; and so I 
have tried to account for it by saying my horse and I had an ugly 
fall while running a coyote through the timber. We did see a coyote, 
down near the ranch on the Monee, and I did have an ugly fall : I 
was set upon by three of those ranchmen and badly handled.” 

“Yes, damn them ! ’ ’ said Perry, excitedly and wrathfully. “ I ’ve 
had an experience with them myself to-night, while we were search- 
ing for you.” 

“So much the more reason, sir, why my mishap should not be 
told among the men. The two affairs combined would be more than 
they would stand. There are enough Irishmen here in our troop 
alone to go down and wipe that ranch out of existence ; and I fear 
trouble as it stands.” 

“Whether there will be trouble or not will depend very much on 
the future conduct of the proprietor and manager down there. Of 
course we cannot tolerate for an instant the idea of their maintaining 
a gang of ruffians there who are allowed to assault officers or men who 


188 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


happen to ride around that neighborhood. You were not inside theii 
limits, were you ?” 

“ Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, painfully, “ I was : I had tied my 
horse outside and ventured in to get a nearer look at the buildings.” 

“ What time did it happen ?” 

“ This morning, sir ; not more than an hour and a half after you 
spoke to me in the valley.” 

“ Indeed ! Then you must have lain there all day ! Why, Gwynne, 
this will never do. Til go and get the surgeon and have him look you^ 
over. You must have been brutally mauled, and must be utterly ex- 
hausted.” 

“ Don’t go, sir,” said the sergeant, eagerly stretching forth a hand. 
“ It — it isn’t as you think, sir. I have been kindly cared for. They’re 
not all ruffians down there, and the men who assaulted me will be fully 
punished. I’ve been quite as well nursed and fed and brandied and 
bandaged as though I’d been carried right to hospital. Indeed, I 
don’t need anything but rest. I’ll be all right in a day.” 

“ But I think Dr. Quin ought to see you and satisfy us you are not 
injured.” 

“ Be satisfied, sir. The doctor has seen me.” 

“ Why, but how ? — where ? He was here all day, and only went 
away at sunset. He joined me at Dunraven about nine o’clock, and 
hadn’t returned when I came in. Did he find you and bring you 
back?” 

Gwynne hesitated painfully again : 

“ The doctor saw me this evening, — down near where I was hurt ; 
but I got back here without his help, sir. Lieutenant,” said the 
soldier, suddenly, “ there are one or two things connected with this 
day’s work that I cannot tell. Come what may, I must not speak of 
them, even to the captain.” 

Perry was silent a moment. Then he kindly answered, — 

“ I do not think any one here will press you to tell what you con- 
sider it might be ungrateful or dishonorable in you to reveal. I will 
do what I can to see that your wishes are respected. And now, if you 
are sure I can do nothing for you, good-night, sergeant.” And the 
young officer held out his hand. 

“ Good-night, sir,” answered Gwynne. He hesitated one moment. 
It was the first time since he entered service, nearly five years before 
that an officer had offered him his hand. It was a new and strange 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 


189 


sensation. It might not be “ good discipline” to take advantage of it, 
but there were other reasons. Gwynne looked up in the frank blue 
eyes of his lieutenant and read something there that told a new story. 
Out came a hand as slender and shapely as that of the young officer, 
and the two were silently and firmly clasped. 

“ How can I question him ?” said Perry to himself as he walked 
slowly homeward. “ Is there not something I am holding back ? — 
something I cannot speak of? By Jupiter ! can his be the same 
reason ?” 


IX. 

At just what hour the post surgeon returned to Fort Kossiter that 
night no one seemed to know. He was present at sick-call, and im- 
perturbable as ever, on the following morning, and the few officers who 
were at head-quarters after guard-mounting were able to affirm that the 
colonel had been courteous as usual in his greeting to the medical officer, 
and that nothing whatever had been said about his being away so late 
the previous evening. Captain Stryker came home soon after midnight, 
had a brief talk with his colonel, and went over to the stables to 
inquire into G Wynne’s condition before he went to bed. Parke came 
into Perry’s room after morning stables, and told him, as he was 
yawning and stretching in bed, that the captain had had quite a long 
talk with Gwynne that morning, and that “ something, was up,” — he 
didn’t know what. Later in the day Perry was sent for by Colonel 
Brainard, and found the commanding officer in consultation with 
Captain Stryker and two other troop-commanders. At their request 
he repeated the story of his adventure at Dunraven, beginning with 
his instructions to the men he left at the gate, and ending with old 
Maitland’s swooning ; and about an hour after he had finished he saw 
the adjutant with a small escort ride away down the valley, and rightly 
conjectured that the colonel had sent a letter to Dunraven inquiring 
into the cause of the assaults on two members of his command. Bat- 
talion drill kept him occupied all the morning ; a garrison court con- 
vened at noon and sat until skirmish drill began at three p.m. ; and so 
it happened that not until near parade did he find a moment’s time to 
himself. He longed to see Mrs. Lawrence and question her as to the 
nature of the “ Dunraven stories” she had mentioned ; for what had 
been a matter of indifference to him then had suddenly become of vivid 


190 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 


interest. There were ladies sitting on the Lawrences’ gallery, he 
could plainly see, as the cavalry officers came tramping in from 
afternoon stables, but he could not hope to ask or hear anything 
about a matter so near his heart in the presence of so many sympa- 
thetic and interested listeners. He kept away towards his own gate, 
therefore, until he saw that there, leaning on the gate-post, and ap- 
parently awaiting him, stood Dr. Quin. 

Perry would gladly have avoided the doctor : the antagonism he 
was beginning to feel for him was of a character that would hardly 
brook concealment. Cordial and joyous in manner as he was to al- 
most every man, woman, and child he met, it was all the more notice- 
able that to the very few whom he held in dislike or distrust his 
bearing was cold and repellent in the last degree. Something told 
him the doctor was there to speak to him about their chance meeting 
at Dunraven. He did not want to speak to him at all, just now. 
Yet how could he hope to have these matters explained without a 
meeting and a talk? While the other officers strolled over and 
stopped, most of them, in front of the group of ladies at Lawrence’s, 
Perry stalked straight across the parade and the boundary road, 
with his blue eyes fixed on the doctor’s face. 

The latter was studying him as he came, and doubtless read that 
expression of coldness and distrust : possibly he resented it. At all 
events, something prompted him to speak in a tone less cordial than 
he had ever employed towards Perry, — “a youngster whom I thor- 
oughly approve of,” as he said before he had known him a week. 
Still leaning on the gate-post, and resting his head on his hand, the 
doctor began : 

“Mr. Perry, I have been to see you twice to-day, but could not 
find you, and I wanted to speak with you on a matter of some 
importance. ’ ’ 

“You could have found me on drill or the court, i£ anything im- 
mediate was needed. I have been nowhere else, except to stables,” 
said Perry, shortly. 

“It was a personal matter,— a somewhat embarrassing one,— and 
I thought best to see you alone.” 

“Well, here I am, Dr. Quin: drive ahead and let us have it.” 

4 ‘ I wanted to ask you if, while you were at the ranch last night, 
you saw anything of a large signet-ring, with a crest and motto en- 
graved on the stone.” 

“I did not,— unless you mean the one Mr. Maitland wore.” 

“The very one! You noticed that did you?” 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 191 

i ‘ 1 noticed he had something of the kind on his left hand when he 
came down.” 

“And it was nowhere to be found after you went away. You 
may remember you were chafing and slapping that hand; and I 
thought you might have accidentally removed it at that time. ’ ’ 

“The reflection is not a pleasant one, Dr. Quin,” said Perry, 
with an angry light in his blue eyes. 

“Pardon me, Mr. Perry: I put it awkwardly, but I mean no re- 
flection whatever. Miss Maitland mentioned your efforts to restore 
the old gentleman to consciousness, and together we searched the 
sofa and the floor after we had put him safely to bed and discovered 
the loss of the ring. It is one to which he attaches peculiar value, 
and its loss has preyed upon him. While I know very well you 
could not have the ring, I was asked to ascertain if you remembered 
seeing it, and so establish the truth of Mr. Maitland’s belief that it 
was on his finger when he went to that room. ’ ’ 

“It was ; but I do not recollect its being on his hand after he was 
carried to the sofa. It would surely have attracted my attention 
while chafing it.” 

“The parlor, hall, and piazza have been swept and searched, I 
am told by this note,” and the doctor indicated a little missive he 
held in his hand, whereat Perry’s face did not brighten, “and with 
no success. I was asked to inquire of you, and if it has annoyed you, 
as I infer by your manner, pray let that be my apology. Then I am to 
say you saw it when Mr. Maitland entered the room, but not again ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Precisely ; unless you choose to add to your correspondent that 
the next time I am associated with missing property at Dunraven I 
would prefer to be questioned direct, and not through a third 
party. ’ ’ 

A quiet smile shone for an instant on the doctor’s grave face: 

1 1 1 fear that I have not accomplished my mission very diplomati- 
cally, Mr. Perry, and am sorry to have vexed you. The colonel tells 
me, by the way, that I ought to say to you that the reason I was so 
long in reaching your party last night was that I was detained at- 
tending to another case, — one of our own men. Good-evening, sir.” 
And, raising his forage-cap, the doctor walked slowly and with 
dignity away, leaving Perry too surprised to speak. 

4 4 The colonel told him to tell me!” was Perry ’s wondering solilo- 
quy at last. 4 ‘ Then I suppose he must have told the chief some story 
to account for his being away. ” It was pretty evident from the young 


192 


L UNRAVEN RANCH. 


fellow’s manner as he entered the house that the story was not one 
which struck him as being entitled to confidence or consideration. 

On the table in his little sitting-room lay a dainty note. It was 
} not the first he had received under that superscription, and he had not 
been slow to open and read them. If anything, the cloud upon his 
forehead seemed to deepen at sight of it. He picked it up, looked 
impatiently at the address, hesitated a moment, tossed it back on his 
desk, and went into the inner room. He would not read it now ; it 
was almost parade-time ; he had to bathe and change his dress, for after 
parade he was to dine at the quarters of an infantry friend, and Cap- 
tain and Mrs. Lawrence were to be of the party. Already it was noted 
that when any of the few infantry people at the post gave a little tea 
or dinner at which only eight or ten were gathered together, the Bel- 
knaps were not invited on the same evening with Mr. Perry, and vice 
vered. When Parke came in, whistling and singing and banging doors 
and making all manner of uncouth noise in the exuberance of his boyish 
spirits, he bolted into Perry’s domain, as was his wont, and began a 
rattling comment on the events of the day. 

“ By the way,” he broke in, suddenly, “ we can’t both go to-morrow ; 
and I suppose you want to.” 

“ Go where ?” 

“ Why, out with the hounds : to-morrow’s the day, you know.” 

Perry gave a whistle of perplexity. The colonel had promised the 
ladies that there should be a big run this very week. All the fleet 
hounds of the cavalry battalion were to be out, and all the officers who 
could be spared from the day’s duties : a detachment was to go over 
into the valley of a stream some ten miles away, pitch tents in the 
shade, and there set luncheon for the entire party ; horses were to be 
provided for all the ladies who cared to go mounted, buggies and w buck- 
boards” were to convey the others, and it was to be a gala occasion. 
Antelope, coyote, or jack-rabbit, — any four-footed game the prairie 
afforded was to be “ coursed” in due state and ceremony ; the ladies 
“ in at the death” were to be crowned and subsequently presented with 
trophies of the chase more sightly than the mask or brush au naturel. 
The affair had been gayly talked over that very evening of the colonel’s 
dinner, but the events of the previous day and the perplexities of the 
one just closing had completely driven it all out of his head. 

And yet he was engaged to ride with Mrs. Belknap, — the Amazon 
of Fort Rossiter! and for the first time in his life Ned Perry would 


DUNEAVEN RANCH. 193 

have been glad of an excuse to get away from a gallop with an accom- 
plished Equestrienne. 

“ You don’t mean to say you had forgotten it ?” asked Parke, in 
amaze. 

“ Don’t blow on me, there’s a good fellow ; but, after all my 
‘ breaks’ of yesterday, — getting an absent from drill and into a row at 
the ranch, — I declare it had slipped my memory. No, you go, Parke . 
I don’t deserve to be let off anything, after yesterday. You’ve been 
sticking to duty like a brick ever since you joined, and Stryker ought 
to give you the preference.” 

“ But you’re engaged to ride with Mrs. Belknap,” said Parke. 

“ Who told you so ?” 

“ I heard her say so. Dana asked if he might have the pleasure, 
just a while ago, and she smilingly replied that it would have been de- 
lightful, but that you had asked her four days ago, when it was first 
planned.” 

“ So I had ; but I’ve been getting into scrapes ever since, and I 
oughtn’t to go. By Jove ! I’ll write her a note now and say I can’t 
get off. It’s true enough. I wouldn’t let such a fellow go if I com- 
manded the troop. I’d make him stay in and attend roll-call a week.” 

“ Well, Mrs. Belknap expects you,” said Parke, dubiously. “Not 
but what Dana would be glad to take your place. Belknap can’t go : 
he’s too bulky to ride, and she’d leave him miles astern first run w r e 
had, sure.” 

Suddenly Perry bethought him of the note, and made a dive into 
the sitting-room, towel in hand and shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbows. 
It read, — 

“Mon Ami, — 

“ You go to the Spragues’ to dine this evening, and there will be 
cards, and you will not be able to get away until very late. Will you 
not come in a little while before parade, — without fail? There is 
something I greatly want to see you about. 

“ Sincerely, 

“ F. E. B. 

“ Come early as possible after stables.” 

“ Thunder and turf !” exclaimed Perry ; “ and there goes first call 
now ! Here, Parke, you’re dressed ; run over and tell Mrs. Belknap 
I 17 


194 


DUNRAVEN RANCH . 


1 just this instant read her note and I can’t come : I’ll get a late as it is.* 

“How can I, man?” shouted Parke, as he fled. “I’ve got to get 
into war-paint too. — Lucky thing for me,” he added, in lower tone. 
“ I don’t want to be the one to tell the prettiest woman at Rossiter 
that her note that she sent here at noon wasn’t opened until first call 
for parade.” 

Perry’s dressing was completed at racing speed, but even then he 
was buckling his sabre-belt as the assembly sounded, and he had to go 
straight across to where his troop was forming, — a glittering rank of 
yellow plumes, — and so could only give a hurried sidelong glance 
towards Belknap’s quarters. There was her bonnie ladyship pacing 
up and down the veranda ; and he knew well he would have to account 
for his sins. All through parade his thoughts were divided between 
the fair face he had seen at Dunraven the night before and the dark 
one with the long, curving lashes sweeping those soft, peachy cheeks 
and half veiling those wonderful, liquid, speaking, side-glancing eyes. 
He saw Mrs. Belknap stroll forth a moment as though to join the 
group of ladies on the walk, then return to her slow, graceful, languid 
promenade up and down her piazza. He knew that he must hasten 
to her the instant the rank of officers dispersed and make his peace if 
possible, but as they marched to the front and saluted the commanding 
officer he signalled that he had something to say to them all, and, 
moving away to the edge of the parade-ground, so that the troops 
might not be detained on the line, he gathered his officers about him, 
a silent group under the little shade-trees that bounded the road- way, 
and took a letter from the breast of his uniform coat. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, “ this will be of importance to some of you, 
and of interest to all. It explains something none of us understood, 
and contains matter that I deem it best you all should hear. It is a 
letter from the manager of Dunraven Ranch. — Mr. Adjutant, you 
jcead it.” 

And, clearing his throat, Mr. Farnham began : 

“Dunraven Ranch, 

“ Friday. 

“Colonel Brainard, — th Cavalry, Fort Rossiter: 



DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


195 


while he regrets the boisterous conduct of some of his employees last 
evening and their assault on Mr. Perry, he considers that in view of 
the results — a broken head on the part of one of our people and no 
•» apparent damage to Mr. Perry — the matter should not be pressed. As 
to the other assault alluded to, he has no knowledge of it whatever, 
and can find no man who has. 

u The distinct understanding between Mr. Maitland and the former 
commanding officer at Fort Rossiter was that none of the garrison 
should ever pass within our lines ; and we agreed on the other hand 
that none of our people should ever trespass on the reservation. Mr. 
Maitland holds that it was the duty of Colonel Brainard’s predecessor 
to acquaint him with the terms of this agreement, and the residents at 
Dunraven had no means of knowing that the invaders of last evening 
were not the very men whom the proper authorities had pledged them- 
selves to restrain from such aggression. 

“ Mr. Maitland begs that Colonel Brainard will in future ratify and 
conform with the agreement formally entered into by his predecessor. 

“ Respectfully, 

“ P. Ewen, Manager” 

There was a moment of puzzled silence. The colonel looked quiz- 
zically around upon the circle of bronzed and soldierly faces under the 
black helmets. Captain Stryker’s lips were twitching with amusement 
behind their black fringe of beard. No one spoke at first ; but pres- 
ently a deep- voiced troop-commander gave vent to his emotions : 

“ What a bombastic old crank ! Who is he ?” 

“ An Englishman, — the owner of the biggest ranch in this part of 
Texas,” answered the colonel. “ Captain Belknap, Captain Lawrence, 
have you any knowledge of the agreement of which he speaks ?” 

“ Nothing beyond the vague talk we heard. Dr. Quin would be 
more apt to know what Colonel Stratton agreed to than we would,” 
answered Belknap. 

“ I will ask the doctor this evening. Meantime, knowing no reason 
why such a policy of non-intercourse should be observed, I shall not 
recognize it. What is more, while you will caution your men to respect 
Dunraven bounds as they would other private property, let them show 
no hostility to the ranch- people who may have occasion to visit us. The 
man who brought this note tells me he was threatened and abused by 
some cavalrymen near the stables. Mr. Maitland professes to have n<? 


196 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


knowledge of another assault; but we have evidence that Sergeant 
G wynne was beaten by three fellows on the Dunraven grounds yester- 
day. That matter is yet to be settled. Now one thing more : troop 
and company commanders will closely watch their men the next few 
nights, — keep a sharp lookout on the quarters until midnight, to see 
that no men slip away ; after midnight the guard must attend to it. 
There is an element in the ranks that would be only too glad to go 
down to Dunraven some night and have satisfaction on their own ac- 
count for yesterday’s affairs. This must not be permitted. See to it, 
gentlemen. That is all for the present. — Mr. Perry, will you come 
with me a moment ?” 

Perry went. Mrs. Belknap saw him go, and believed herself 
slighted. 

X. 

The hounds were out, and all Fort Rossiter “ society” was with 
them. The day was faultless, — neither too warm nor too cloudy ; a 
brisk westerly breeze sent the cloud-shadows sailing steadily across the 
broad prairie sea and keeping the veils and skirts of the Amazons of 
the party a-flutter. Three there were of these, the rest of the sister- 
hood preferring to follow the hunt by buggy or buck-board, though 
frankly expressing their envy of the fortunate riders. Mounted on 
her own spirited little bay, admirably fitted as to habit, and sitting 
squarely and well, Mrs. Belknap would have been the centre of obser- 
vation of all the cavalry officers even had she not been, as she incon- 
testably was, the beauty of the garrison. The colonel had offered Mrs. 
Lawrence one of his own horses, and therefore was accorded the right 
of being her escort. Mrs. Sprague was similarly indebted for her 
“mount” to Captain Stryker; and a very bright and beaming little 
body she was as she rode over the springy turf at the side of the dark- 
haired troop-leader. She dearly loved fresh air, sunshine, space, health- 
ful exercise of every kind, was the champion at tennis and an indomi- 
table walker, but a ride was something better than all, and of course 
the rarest pleasure. The wife of a faithful and honest old subaltern 
who had reaped his four “ fogies” for twenty years’ service and was 
still looking forward to his captaincy, her opportunities for riding had 
been limited to those occasions when some thoughtful cavalryman would 
send his horse around with his compliments and an invitation to take 
a canter. The Eleventh were very busy during their stay at Rossiter, 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


197 


or very chary of their horseflesh. They never rode, said the infantry 
people, in speaking of them to their successors, while the — th were 
not only themselves in saddle hours each day, but they were constantly 
sending horses to the ladies ; and — wonder of wonders ! — all the in- 
fantry officers were invited to join in the hunt, and such as could go 
were provided with excellent mounts. And so it happened that a large 
and merry party had taken the field : the colonel with a dozen of his 
officers, — cavalry and infantry, — the ladies, the sergeant in charge of 
the hounds, with his two or three assistants, and the brace of orderlies, 
made a “ field” that covered a goodly front as in dispersed order, chat- 
ting and laughing, they swept out eastward from the post, following in 
the wake of the master of the hounds and his long, lithe, fleet-limbed 
coursers themselves. Beautiful creatures were these hounds of the 
— th, — many of them black as jet, others a slaty blue, others a 
quakerish drab, but all with huge rounded chests, powerful shoulders 
and haunches, and wonderful limbs for speed. There were nearly two 
dozen of them, springily trotting along behind their huntsman, with 
lolling tongues and drooping head and tail. Yet eyes and ears were 
eager and alert, watching, waiting for the signal from anywhere along 
the extended front that should start them in a race that would leave the 
very gale behind. They are the coursers, the runners, the aristocrats 
of the chase, disdainful of the work being done by their humbler 
kindred, — the canine skirmishers who are bounding, bustling, scurry- 
ing, sniffing, scampering everywhere over the prairie to their front, — 
yet keenly observant of the results. All manner of dog — even volun- 
teer whelp from the Cheyenne camp — is to be seen along that outer 
line, — spaniels, a lordly Newfoundland, all varieties of terrier and 
“curs of low degree,” all, even an occasional bird-dog, scouting the 
prairie in desperate eagerness to snap and seize a rabbit or throttle a 
coyote, for down in their jealous hearts they well know that, once 
started, the quarry leaps for the far horizon, vanishes from their view 
like the “ Split-the-Wind” of tradition, and leaves them, despite heroic 
effort, far, far behind, while the lithe-limbed greyhounds and the racers 
of the garrison horses alone can keep in sight of the chase. 

“ Hard lines on Perry, isn't it ?” said Mr. Graham, as he trotted up 
beside Mrs. Belknap and took his place for the moment with her bevy 
of cavaliers. “ First time he ever missed a hunt, I reckon.” 

“He needn't have missed this one,” said Parke. “It was my week, 

and I told him to go ; and Captain Stryker said so. too ; but ” 

17 * 


198 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


Here Mr. Parke broke off suddenly and looked in mild wonder^ 
ment in Dana’s face, for that young gentleman had managed, unseen by 
Mrs. Belknap, to swing free his right foot and give the speaker’s left a 
vehement kick. Too late, however. Mrs. Belknap had heard it. 

“ Are you cavalrymen all so little to be trusted ?” she asked, with 
a brilliant smile upon her flushing face. Exercise and excitement had 
lent unusual sparkle to her eyes and color to her cheeks — “ bhe is posi- 
tively beautiful to-day,” as Mrs. Lawrence confessed to the colonel at 
the moment. 

“ I had a note from Mr. Perry this morning saying he was griev- 
ously disappointed, but that some troop-duty had been assigned to him 
which could not be transferred and he must stay and finish it.” 

“ What he said is true, Mrs. Belknap,” promptly asseverated Mr. 
Dana. “ The papers have all to be in readiness for muster on Monday, 
and the saddle-kits put in shape for inspection.” 

“ Only in Captain Stryker’s troop ?” softly inquired the lady, with 
eyelids rising incredulously. 

“No, of course not. One officer is back at the post from each 
troop. It happened to fall on Perry in his.” 

“ I fancy I should prefer serving in some older captain’s troop if I 
were Mr. Perry. It seems that while your other captains stay home 
and look after their companies, Captain Stryker has a subaltern attend 
to his while he comes a-hunting.” 

“ On the other hand, we fellows have a dozen things to do in our 
troops that Captain Stryker does himself in his. It’s as broad as it’s 
long, Mrs. Belknap,” said Dana. He did not fancy her criticising the 
methods of his cavalry associates, and was possibly a little piqued at 
the decided annoyance she showed at Perry’s failure to attend. Mean- 
time, Stryker, all unconscious of her censure, was chatting laughingly 
with Mrs. Sprague and exchanging shots with the colonel and Mrs. 
Lawrence. The four were getting on admirably together, and seemed 
too much absorbed in their own fun to note the fact that Mrs. Belknap 
and her knot of four or five satellites had been gradually edging away 
towards the right, and that the rest of the hunt was becoming widely 
scattered. 

“ It is time we stirred up a jack-rabbit at least,” said the colonel. 
u Suppose we veer over towards the northeast a little. Whatever we 
do, we want no chase down there towards Dunraven : those wire fences 
would spoil it all.” 


1) UNRAVEN RANGE. 


199 


“ I wonder if those people never hunt ?” said Mr. Farnham, who 
had joined the quartette : he always kept close to his colonel, as be- 
fitted an aspirant for the adjutancy. “ Englishmen are generally game 
for all manner of sport.” 

“ I can see horsemen out there on the prairie to the east of the 
ranch,” said Stryker, whose eyes were keen, “ and I could have sworn 
a moment ago that I saw a horsewoman.” 

“ Nonsense, Captain Stryker !” exclaimed Mrs. Lawrence, yet with 
quick glance at Mrs. Sprague. “ What could you have taken for a 
* lady on a horseback’ ? Do you suppose there could be ladies at Dun 
raven and we not know it ?” 

“ Hardly possible,” answered the captain ; “ and therefore I doubted 
the evidence of my senses. Yet something very like a lady followed 
by a groom rode down the slope into the valley about ten minutes ago. 
She is out of sight in the timber now. If Perry were only with us 
I’d send him off there to see.” 

“ Yes, we miss Perry on our hunts,” said the colonel to his lady 
friends. “ He is one of our best riders and most enthusiastic sports- 
men. He mil be out, will he not, Stryker?” 

“ Yes, sir. There is really no necessity for his staying in, and I so 
told him ; but he felt that he ought to, at least until certain work was 
finished. Then he said he could ride eastward and join us. Hurrah ! 
there they go !” 

Far out to the front, straight to the east, “ a gray streak with a 
white tip to it” went shooting into space as though launched from some 
invisible bow drawn by giant power. A big jack-rabbit, all legs and 
ears, had listened quivering and trembling to the sounds of the ap- 
proaching hunt, until an enterprising terrier, foremost skirmisher of 
the line, fairly tumbled over him as he crouched behind a little bunch 
of weeds : then with one mighty leap and the accompaniment of a wild 
yelp from his discoverer he sprang forth into a race for his precious 
life. “ Hoy ! hoy !” yells the sergeant as he sights the quarry. 
“ Hurrah !” shout the nearest huntsmen, and, with one simultaneous 
impulse, skirmishing curs, stealthy, springing hounds, eager steeds, and 
jubilant riders, — men and women, — away goes the entire field sweep- 
ing in pursuit. At first all is one mad rush until it is certain that the 
rabbit is a veteran who understands well the maxim that “ a stern-chase 
is a long chase” all the world over. Let him keep it well in mind, fix 
his eyes on that one distant, shadowy butte on the eastern horizon, and 


200 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


bear away for that, straight as the flight of laden honey-bee, and his 
chance for life is fair : he has fifty yards the start of the nearest hound. 
Let him swerve or hesitate, and, like the original of the famous com- 
parison, he is lost. The prairie is level as a floor, the turf firm and 
springy : not a prairie-dog has mined the sod or digged a pit for the 
unwary. u Magnificent ground ! — couldn’t have better !” shouts the 
colonel to Mrs. Lawrence, who is somewhat nervously tugging at her 
reins and leaning back in the saddle. “ Let him go. There isn’t a 
possibility of a stumble. Look at Mrs. Belknap !” he adds. He would 
not do so ordinarily, but he and his fair partner are being left hopelessly 
behind in the race, and, though his big charger rarely lands him among 
the foremost and the colonel does not attempt to vie with the light 
riders among the youngsters, he cannot bear “ dragging.” Mrs. Law- 
rence gives one glance in the indicated direction, sees Mrs. Belknap 
skimming like a bird across the grassy level, riding from the right 
front diagonally towards the frantic chase. Gentle as she is and un- 
envious of her rival’s superiority in some respects, she won't be thought 
a coward. The color deepens on her cheek, her soft eyes flash, she 
bites her pretty red lips, and, to Lawrence’s amaze, her riding-whip 
comes viciously down upon her courser’s flank and her little hands give 
rein. Away she flies, out to the front, leaving her lord and master and 
his friend, her escort the colonel, thundering bulkily in her track, but 
losing ground with every stride. Delighted to have so light a rider, 
the colonel’s second horse makes play for the very leaders. Here, close 
behind the master of the hounds, all eyes fixed on that bounding tuft 
of gray and white a few score yards ahead, bending over their horses’ 
necks and keeping just enough pressure on the bit to prevent over- 
riding the huntsman, ride Parke and Graham, two “ light weights,” 
who have coursed many a mile of prairie. Just behind them, a little 
to their right, rides Mrs. Belknap, her veil fluttering straight out 
behind, her glorious eyes flashing, her dark skin flushed with triumph 
and the exhilaration of the dashing pace, her little hands wound about 
in the reins she holds so firmly. Splendidly she sits her fleet racer, 
and Dana has to urge and spur his clumsier troop-horse to keep in close 
attendance. These four are well in advance of all the others. Back 
of them, gallantly urging on her sturdy sorrel, comes Mrs. Sprague, 
with Stryker riding warily alongside and watching her “ going” before 
he will satisfy himself that it is safe to trust her to her own guiding. 
Level as the prairie is here, he knows that a mile or so ahead there 


D UNRAVEN RANCH, 


201 


are “ breaks” leading down into the valley of one of the innumerable 
tributaries of the Washita. Then the story may be different. He 
looks up in surprise at the thunder of hoofs close alongside, and Mrs. 
Lawrence, with excitement in her eyes, overtakes, then passes them on 
her way to the front. “ See !” he points to his partner , — “ see that 
dark shadow across the prairie out there. We cannot ride at this pace 
when we pass that hollow : the breaks set in still farther.” He glances 
over his shoulder and signals to the nearest officer to follow Mrs. 
Lawrence and look out for her, and the gallant does his best, but all 
are at top speed ; the colonel and the heavy weights — infantry and 
cavalry — are beginning to lose ground, and still that gray “ puff-ball” 
far to the front seems inch by inch to be slipping away from his pur- 
suers ; still the long, lean greyhounds, looking almost flat against the 
sward in their wonderful strides, speed on in relentless chase, eager 
muzzles outstretched, eager eyes glaring on the bounding quarry, gleam- 
ing muscles working in the sunshine like the steel rods of the drivers 
of the “ lightning express.” A dozen of them are bunched in the 
track of the chase ; others are farther out to right and left. Not an 
inch do the pursuers seem to have gained : straight as an arrow has 
been the flight so far, but now the “ breaks” are just ahead, little ravines 
cut in here and there across the level. Will he keep his determined 
course, up hill and down, straight away to the east, or will he lose heart, 
tack, veer, double and twist? If he swerve he is a lost rabbit ! 

Far to the rear, yelping, panting, distracted by this time, the terriers 
and mongrels, the original leaders, have fallen. The field, too, is strung 
out nearly a mile deep at the end of the first six minutes’ run, for some 
of the laggards have given up and are disposed to wait for the coming 
of the buggies and buck-boards. Here at the front all is tense excite- 
ment. All eyes are on the rabbit, for now or never will the crisis come. 
The horses are breathing heavily, but with no thought of slackening 
speed. “ Watch him now as he sights that arroyo /” shouts Graham 
to Parke, for far out to the right front a ravine bursts off to the south- 
east, and one of its shallow contributors stretches obliquely across the 
rabbit’s frenzied vision. “ Veer that way ; he’ll take it sure !” shouts 
the huntsman ; and, sure enough, no sooner does he reach it than the 
gray victim darts down the winding shelter, as though hopeful that his 
sudden twist would throw his pursuers off the sight ; scent the grey- 
hound has none. The move is disastrous ; “ Hi !” shout the leading 
riders, waving the pursuit to the right front, and, obedient to signal, 
I* 


202 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


the foremost hounds sweep in long curve into the cou^e, striking it 
many a yard farther down than where the harried chase first dived into 
its treacherous shadows. And now those hounds who were out on the 
right flank are up in line with the very leaders, and bounding along the 
level at the side of the ravine, yet keeping wary eye upon the chase. 
So, too, the horsemen. Making a deep curve in the ravine five hun- 
dred yards ahead, and confident that Bunny will blindly rush along his 
winding track, they strike out across the prairie, gaining twenty horse- 
lengths by the move ; and now, with two or three of the oldest hounds, 
Parke, Dana, and Mrs. Belknap are darting on abreast of the chase. 
“ Keep out there to the left, some of you !” shouts Dana. “ He’ll spring 
up the other side quick as he sees us. Drive him back.” And, obedient 
to the signal of his waving hand, two of the leading troopers breast 
the slopes to the east, calling half a dozen hounds with them. Darting 
around a bend, Bunny’s agonized eyes catch sight of the hounds and 
horses on the right bank, and like a flash he whirls, scampers up the 
opposite slope, and shoots out on the prairie again just in time to meet 
the hounds and troopers who have anticipated the move. Kow he is 
wild and demoralized. Once more he dives into the ravine and sends 
the dust flying into the very faces of his pursuers, for now the leading 
hounds are so close that the foremost jaws are snapping the air at his 
every bound. A quick turn to the right and up the slope throws these 
leaders far — too far — beyond ; they sweep around in long curve ; but, 
though he has thrown them off, the hunted, senseless, helpless wretch 
has forgotten the trailers to the rear ; they spring across the angle he 
has made, and are close as the original pursuers, and much the fresher. 
Wildly, madly now he twists and turns, first up one bank, then the 
other. Far to the rear the coming riders see the signs of his breaking 
down, mark the scurrying to and fro of horse and hound. “ Come 
on !” they shout. “ He’s gone now, and we can be in at the death !” 
Mrs. Lawrence on one side of the ravine is as far to the front as Mrs. 
Belknap on the other. One of them must lose the brush : he cannot 
die on both sides at once. The dark beauty has had more than one 
rasping disappointment in the last two days : it would be intolerable 
now that, after all, Mrs. Lawrence, and not she, should prove the 
victor. Bunny makes one frantic rush up the slope to the right, and, 
with half a dozen hounds at his very heels, spins in front of her eyes, 
catches sight of two fresh antagonists confronting him, whirls suddenly 
about to the right, and almost dives under her horse’s heaving barrel as 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


203 


he once more plunges into the ravine, down the rugged slope, up the 
gentle ascent to the other side. There half a dozen long, lean muzzles 
gleam close behind him ; he falters, wavers ; a sharp nose is thrust 
underneath him as he runs, a quick toss sends him kicking, struggling 
into air, and in another instant,' with piteous but ineffectual squeak and 
pleading, he is the centre of a tumbling, snapping, fang-gnashing 
group of hounds, and his little life is torn out almost before Graham 
can leap from his saddle, beat them back with the visor of his cap, then, 
seizing the still quivering body by the legs that would have saved could 
that empty head only have directed, holds poor Bunny aloft in front of 
Mrs. Lawrence’s snorting steed and proclaims her “ Queen of the Chase.” 

And this, too, has Mrs. Belknap to see and strive to smile ; while 
down in her heart she knows that it could not so have happened had 
Perry come. 


XI. 

Riding eastward just before noon, somewhat comforted in conscience 
because of his self-denial of the morning, Ned Perry scanned the 
distant prairie in search of the hunt. It was nearly luncheon-time, 
and he expected to find the party making its way to the little stream 
whither the baskets, boxes, and hampers had been despatched by 
wagon some hours before ; but when he sighted the quartermaster 
driving homeward in his buggy he learned from that bulky veteran 
that rabbit after rabbit had been run, and that the whole party had 
finally decided to give dogs and horses a cool drink down in the Monee 
valley before starting northward across the prairie. “ They must be 
getting down into the valley two or three miles east of the ranch just 
about now, and will go due north from there, unless they stir up more 
game along the Monee. If I were you,” said the quartermaster, “ I’d 
ride over to the lunch-stand. You won’t get there much before the 
crowd.” 

Perry thanked him for the information, but, so far from accepting 
bis advice, the younger officer turned his horse’s head in the direction 
of Dunraven, and was speedily riding thither with an alacrity that he 
himself could hardly explain. 

In his brief talk with the colonel after parade on the previous 
evening Perry had told him what he could of the characteristics of 
Messrs. Maitland and Ewen. The odd letter which had been sent by 


204 


D TJNRA VEN RANCH. 


them had given the commanding officer cause for much thought, and 
he was desirous, evidently, of gathering from Perry’s observations as 
complete an idea as was possible of their life and surroundings. . And 
still Perry had found it impossible to volunteer any description of 
Miss Maitland; he could not bear to' speak of her until — until he 
knew more of the doctor’s purpose in his visits to the ranch. He had 
been detained by his commander just long enough to make it necessary 
for him to go direct to the Spragues’ without leaving his helmet and 
sabre at home. They were waiting dinner for him as it was, but Mrs. 
Belknap took no note of that circumstance : what she saw was that he 
had avoided even passing within hail of her piazza both before and 
after parade. 

Now, though conscious of no intention of avoidance, Perry rode 
forth to the meeting of this day with some little misgiving. In the 
first place, he knew that he must strive to make his peace with this 
slighted lady ; and yet, in view of all he had seen and heard in the 
past forty-eight hours, how utterly dwarfed had that affair — his laugh- 
ing flirtation with Mrs. Belknap — become ! Had any one told him 
his attentions to her and her marked preference for his society were 
matters that people were beginning to talk of, — some with sly enjoy- 
ment, others with genuine regret, — he would have been grateful for 
the information, instead of resentful, as, with most men, would be the 
case ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But he knew nothing of this, 
and had too little experience to suspect the comments in circulation. 
She was most interesting — up to the day before yesterday ; he loved 
to ride or dance with her ; he enjoyed a chat with her more than he 
could tell. A most sympathetic and attentive listener was Mrs. Bel- 
knap, and her voice was low and sweet and full of subtly caressing tones. 
She had made him talk to her by the hour of his home, his hopes and 
ambitions, his profession and his prospects, and had held him in a 
silken bondage that he had no desire to escape. 

And yet, as he rode out on the breezy plain this brilliant day, he 
found all thought of her distasteful, and his eyes, far from searching 
for the flutter of her trim habit in the distant riding-party, would go 
a-roaming over the intervening shades and shallows down in the Monee 
valley and seek the bare, brown walls of Dunraven far across the 
stream. It was odd indeed that he should have sought this, the longest 
way round, on his ride in quest of his companions from the fort. 

Once again he looked at the isolated clump of buildings from his 


D CNR A VEN RANCH. 


205 


post of observation on the bluff ; once again he saw across the stream 
and through the trees the barbed barrier that had caused both him and 
his men such laceration of flesh and temper; once again he saw the 
shallow valley winding away to the southeast, decked with its scrubby 
fringe- work of cottonwood and willow ; but this time, three miles away 
its accustomed solitude was broken by groups of riders and darting 
black specks of dogs, all moving northward once more and already 
breasting the slopes. He should have turned away eastward and 
ridden across country to join them, but down here in the valley, only 
a short distance away, absorbed in watching the hunting-party, sat 
Mr. Ewen on a pawing and excited bay. Whatever coolness his rider 
might feel at this discovery, it was not shared by Nolan : he pricked 
up his ears and hailed his fellow-quadruped with cordial and unaffected 
pleasure, a neigh that the English-bred horse was so utterly uninsular 
as to whirl about and answer with corresponding warmth. Ewen 
caught at his heavy Derby and jerked it off his bullet head with an 
air of mingled embarrassment and civility, replacing it with similarly 
spasmodic haste. Perry coolly, but with a certain easy grace, raised his 
forage-cap in response to the salutation, and then, seeing the manager 
still looking at him as though he wanted to say something and did not 
know how to begin, gave Nolan his head and rode down to short hail- 
ing-distance. 

“ We meet on neutral ground out here, Mr. Ewen. I suppose your 
exclusive employer over yonder can hardly prohibit your answering 
civil inquiries after his health ?” And, though he meant to be distant, 
Perry found himself smiling at the oddity of the situation. 

“ Do you know, I was just thinking about you/’ answered Ewen, 
“ and wondering whether you were with that party down yonder? 
The old gentleman is better, thanks. He had two pretty bad nights, 
but is coming around slowly.” 

“ And Miss Maitland, — how is she ?” 

“ Rather seedy. She has had a good deal of care and vexation of 
late, I fancy, and this is no place for a young girl, anyhow.” 

u Well, you have some appreciation of the true character of Dun- 
raven as a residence, after all !” answered Perry. “ Now, if you can 
give me any good reason why she should live in this utterly out-of-the- 
way place, you will lift a weight from my mind.” 

*“Oh, they don't live here, you know,” spoke Ewen, hurriedly 
“She comes here only when her father does. It is her own doing. 

18 


206 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 


She goes with him everywhere, and will not leave him. She's all he 
has, don't you know ?" 

“I don't know anything about it. You Dunraveu people seem 
averse to any expression of interest or courtesy from your fellow-men, 
but I'm free to say I should like to know what on earth there is in 
American cavalrymen to make them such objects of aversion to your 
master ; and I would be glad to know how it is such a girl as that is 
dragged into such a hole as yonder." 

Ewen sat in silence a moment, studying the young fellow's face. 

“ You deserve a better welcome there," he presently answered. “ and 
I don't know that I can do better than to tell you the truth, — what 1 
know of it. And let me tell you that if the old man knew of my 
speaking of it to any one, I'd lose the most lucrative but lear.t attractive 
place I ever had. Do you see ?" 

“ Then perhaps you had better not tell me. I do not care to prj 
into secrets." 

“ Oh, this is no secret. It was that that drove him here : everybod} 
knew it in England. You were mighty shabbily treated at the ranch, 
and you requited it by preventing what would have been a bloody row 
and by lending us a helping hand. Even the old man recognizes that ; 
and I think he'd be glad to say so to you, and see you, if you were not 
just what you are, — a cavalry officer." 

“ Why, what on earth can we have done ? If any of our cloth have 
wronged Mr. Maitland in any way, it is our right to know it and take 
it up." 

“It wasn't your cloth, old fellow," said Ewen, thawing visibly, 
“ but it was the cavalry all the same that broke his heart and his pride, 
and made his life the wreck it is, and drove him from his home, shun- 
ning the sight of his fellow-men, all these years,— exiling her , too, in 
the prime of her young life. Mr. Perry, there are only three or four 
of us at Dunraven who know the story, but we have only sympathy 
and pity — no blame — for him, though he is the harshest master I evei 
served." 

“ How did it happen ?” asked Perry. 

“ All through his son. There had been more of them, but there 
was only the one — Archie — when the Lancers were ordered to South 
Africa. He was a youngster, only seventeen, they tell me, and he had 
just been gazetted to his cornetcy. The old man was all wrapped up 
in him, for of the three boys the eldest had died only the month before 


D UNRAVEN QANCH. 


207 


the regiment was ordered on foreign service and the second had been 
killed in India. Both these two who were gone had made themselves 
famous among their comrades by their fearlessness and high character, 
and the old man, of course, could not ask Archie to quit the service 
just when orders for dangerous duty came. The boy went to the Cape 
with his corps, and got into the thick of the Zulu war just at the time 
of the massacre of the 24th at Isandlwhana and the fight at Rorke’s 
Drift. I was at home then, and all England was quivering with grief 
over such needless sacrifice as was made of that regiment, and all ready 
to fall down and worship such fellows as Chard and Bromhead, who 
made the superb fight almost at the same time. They say old Maitland 
wanted to go himself, as volunteer or something, with Lord Chelms- 
ford, but it couldn’t be done. His father had fought at Alma and 
Inkerman, and his grandfather had led the Guards at Waterloo. The 
whole tribe were soldiers, you know ; and now Archie was with the 
Lancers in Zululand, and the Lancers were going to wipe out the dis- 
asters of the first fights of the campaign, and Archie was to uphold 
the grand old fighting name and come home covered with glory. He 
was the heir now, and Miss Gladys was but a little girl. I have heard 
it all from Mrs. Cowan : she was their housekeeper in those days, and 
a sort of companion, too, to Mrs. Maitland, who was very delicate. 
The old man was very fiery and proud, and full of fierce denunciation 
of everything that had gone wrong in the campaign ; and he offended 
some people by the way he condemned some officer who was a friend 
of theirs, and there were others who thought he talked too much ; but 
he fairly boiled over when the news came of how the Prince Imperial 
had been abandoned by his escort, and that a British officer and a dozen 
men had run two miles at top speed from a beggarly little squad of 
niggers before they dared look round to see what had become of their 
prince, whom they had left to fight the gang alone. That was old 
Maitland’s text for a month. If any son of his had ever been of that 
party he would disown, disgrace, deny him, forbid him his sight, cut 
him off forever. And right in the midst of it all — a judgment, some 
people said — there came the awful news that Cornet Maitland of the 
Lancers was to be court-martialled for misbehavior in face of the 
enemy. Of course the old man only raged at first, — said it couldn’t 
be true, — ’twas all some foul invention or ridiculous blunder ; but he 
ran up to London and saw somebody at the Horse-Guards,— that’s our 
War Office, you know, — and came back looking a century older and 


208 


L ZJNRAVEN RANCH. 


simply crushed to earth. Mrs. Cowau says they showed him the offi- 
cial report of a general officer who was called upon to explain why he 
had not sent certain troops to the relief of an advanced and threatened 
post, and he replied that he had sent the order by Cornet Maitland of 
the Lancers, had given him an escort of a dozen men and strict injunc- 
tions to push through by night, at all hazards, though the way was 
beset with Zulus, and that he neither went through nor returned, but 
was found hiding at a kraal two days after, only twenty miles away. 
The escort returned, and after much cross-examination had told the 
story, separately and collectively, that the young officer had become 
utterly unnerved towards midnight by the reports from scouting-parties 
and others, had declared to them that it was simply madness to attempt 
to push through, — they would be massacred to a man, — and, though 
they announced that they were stanch and ready, he refused, and 
ordered them to bivouac where they were for the night ; and in the 
morning he had disappeared. They declared they supposed he had 
gone back to camp, and, after waiting a day, they returned, reporting 
him lost. When found at the kraal he was delirious with fever, 
or pretended to be, said the general, and he was brought in under 
arrest, and the trial was to proceed. I don’t know how it turned 
out. He was not court-martialled, but permitted to return to England. 
It was said he told a very different story, — that he had begged the 
brigade major who detailed the escort to let him have half a dozen of 
his own Lancers instead of the pack of irregulars they gave him ; he 
did not trust them, and feared they would abandon him as they had the 
Prince ; but the staff-officer said the order couldn’t be changed, — these 
men knew the country, and all that sort of thing, you know ; and there 
was one fellow in the Lancers who stuck to it that he believed Mait- 
land had tried his best to get through alone. But ’twas all useless : 
somebody had to be held responsible, and the failure was all heaped 
on him. Meantime, there had been fury at home ; old Maitland had 
written casting him off, repudiating, — cursing him, for all I know, — 
and the next thing there came a messenger from the captain of his ship 
at Southampton. They brought his watch, his ring, his sword and 
portmanteaus, and a letter which was written on receipt of that his 
father sent him, — a long letter, that the old man never read to any 
living soul, but broods over to this day. The young fellow bade them 
all good-by ; he would not live to disgrace them further, if that waa 
what was thought of him at home, and leaped overboard from the 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


209 


steamer the night after she weighed anchor, — no one aboard comd tell 
just when, but he was writing in his state-room ac she cleared the 
harbor, and the steward saw him undressing at nine o’clock. In the 
morning everything about his belongings was found in perfect order, — 
his letter to the captain of the ship, the portmanteaus, watch, ring, 
clothing, etc., just as he described in that letter, — and he was no more 
seen. It was the conviction of all that he must have leaped overboard 
in the darkness when far out at sea. 

“ Then Mrs. Maitland bowed her head and never lifted it again. 
Then, all alone, and fiercely rejecting anything like sympathy, old 
Maitland took to travel, — came here to America, wandered around the 
world, shunning men as he would these prairie- wolves ; and when he 
had to go to England he would see no one but the attorneys and solici- 
tors with whom he had business. Here at Dunraven he is more content 
than anywhere, because h^ is farther from the world. Here Gladys is 
queen : ’twas she who named it, two years ago, for her mother was a 
connection of the earl’s. But Maitland even here hates to have his 
name mentioned ; and that is why I say he refers all business to me 
and keeps himself out of everything. Do you see what a weight he 
carries ?” 

Mr. Ewen had grown red with the intensity and rapidity of his 
talk. He removed his hat and mopped his face and brow with a big 
silk handkerchief, and then glanced again at Perry, who had listened 
with absorbed interest and who was now silently thinking it over, 
looking curiously at Ewen the while. 

“ Have I bored you half to death ?” asked the Englishman, some- 
what ruefully. “ I never told that story before, but it has been smoul- 
dering for years.” 

“Bored? No! I never was more interested in my life. I was 
thinking what a different sort of fellow you were from the man I met 
out yonder the other day. Did they never do anything to clear the 
matter up ? In our country it never would have been allowed to rest 
there.” 

“ It was too far gone ; and when the boy killed himself the thing 
was used by all the government papers — you’d call them ‘ administration 
organs’ — as a confession of judgment. When the Lancers came home 
there was some talk, but it was soon hushed. Maitland had shut up 
the old place by that time and gone no one knew where, but I read it 
in one of the London papers, — Ti'uth, I think, — a story that two of the 

18 * 


210 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


irregulars had quarrelled with their fellows and after the war was over 
told a tale that made a sensation in Cape Colony. They said that the 
young officer was a maligned man ; that up to midnight he had pushed 
on, but every scout and patrol they met warned them that thousands of 
Zulus were ahead, and that it was madness to try. The men began 
whispering among themselves, and begged the sergeant to attempt to 
dissuade the Lancer officer ; and he did, and they all began to talk, but 
he refused to listen. At last they halted at a little stream and flatly 
refused to go a step farther. He ordered, begged, and implored. He 
promised heavy reward to any one of their number who would come 
and show him the way. Then they heard the night cries or signals of 
some war-parties across the fields, and the sergeant and most of the men 
put spurs to their horses ; the others followed, and they rode back five 
miles until they were within our patrolled lines ; then they bivouacked, 
supposing of course the Lancer had followed them. But he hadn’t : he 
never joined them all next day, and likely as not he had done his best 
to get through that strange country by night, alone, and had tried to 
carry his despatches to the detachment. They knew they must tell a 
straight story or be severely punished. They were twelve against one 
when it came to evidence, as the sergeant pointed out, and so they 
agreed on the one that sent him to Coventry. 

“ Some of the Lancer officers got hold of this and swore they believed 
it true ; but meantime the government had had the devil’s own time in 
tiding his lordship the general over the numerous blunders he had made 
in the campaign, and the Lancers were summarily ordered off elsewhere. 
There was no one left to take up poor Archie’s cause at home, and the 
thing died out.” 

“ By the Lord Harry, Mr. Ewen, it wouldn’t die out here ! We 
Yankees would resurrect such a thing if it were old as a mummy.” 

“ Sometimes I think old Maitland would be glad of the chance to 
do it, even broken as he is; sometimes, Mrs. Cowan says, he walks 
the floor all night and holds Archie’s last letter in his hands. She 
thinks he charges himself with having driven the boy to suicide.” 

“ Does Miss Maitland never revisit the old home ?” asked Perry, 
after a moment’s thought. 

“ She goes with her father — everywhere. He is never here more 
than twice a year, and seldom for more than six weeks at a time. 
Were it not for her, though, he would settle down here, I believe. 
He went to Cape Colony and tried to find the D en who gave out that 


LVNBAVEN RANCH. 


211 


story, but one of them was dead and the other had utterly disappeared. 
There were still six survivors of that escort, the sergeant among them, 
and he was a man of some position and property. They stuck to the 
original story, and said the two men who started the sensation were 
mere blackmailing vagrants. Maitland advertised everywhere for the 
missing man, but to no purpose. I think he and Miss Gladys have 
finally abandoned all hope of ever righting Archie's name. She was 
only a child when it all happened, but she worshipped him, and never 
for an instant has believed the story of his having funked. She's out 
here riding somewhere this morning, by the way.'' 

“ Who ! Miss Maitland ?" exclaimed Perry, with sudden start, and 
a flash of eager light in his blue eyes. 

Ewen smiled quietly as he answered, “ Yes. She needed exercise, 
and wanted to come down to the gate and meet Dr. Quin. She went 
on up the valley ; and I wonder she is not back." 

The bright light faded quickly as it came ; the glad blue eyes 
clouded heavily. Ewen looked at the young soldier, surprise in his 
florid face, — surprise that quickly deepened into concern, for Perry 
turned suddenly away, as though looking for his comrades of the hunt. 

“ I think they're coming now," said the manager, peering up the 
valley under the shading willows. “ Yes ! Won't you stop a bit?" 

“ Not now," was the hurried reply. “ Thank you for that story : 
it has given me a lot to think about. I'll see you again." The last 
words were almost shouted back ; for, urged by sudden dig of the spur, 
Nolan indignantly lashed his heels, then rushed in wrathful gallop 
towards the eastern bluffs. It was no wilful pang his rider had in- 
flicted on his pet and comrade ; it was only the involuntary transmis- 
sion of the shock to his own young heart, — a cruel, jealous stab, that 
came with those thoughtless words, “ She wanted to come down to the 
gate and meet Dr. Quin, and went on up the valley." He would not 
even look back and see her riding by that man's side. 

XII. 

To use the expression of Mr. Dana, “Ned Perry seemed off his 
feed" for a day or two. The hunt had been pronounced a big success, 
despite the fact of Perry's defection, — he had not even joined them at 
luncheon, — and it was agreed that it should be repeated the, first bright 
day after muster. That ceremony came off on Monday with due pomp 


212 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


and formality and much rigidity of inspection on the part of the post 
commander. It was watched with interest by the ladies, and Mrs. Bel- 
knap even proposed that when the barracks and kitchens were being 
visited they should go along. Dana had been her devotee ever since 
the day of the hunt, and announced his willingness to carry her sug- 
gestion to the colonel, but Belknap declined. She wanted a few 
words with Perry, and did not know how to effect her purpose. When 
he stopped and spoke to her after parade on Saturday evening and 
would have made peace, she thought to complete her apparent conquest 
by a show of womanly displeasure at his conduct, and an assurance 
that, thanks to Mr. Dana, the day had been delightful and his failure 
to accompany her had been of no consequence at all. The utterly 
unexpected way in which he took it was simply a “ stunner” to the 
little lady. So far from being piqued and jealous and huffy, as she 
expected, Mr. Perry justified the off-expressed opinion of her sisterhood 
to the effect that “ men were simply past all comprehension” by bright- 
ening up instantly and expressing such relief at her information that 
for a moment she was too dazed to speak. By that time he had pleas- 
antly said good-night and vanished ; nor had he been near her since, 
except to bow and look pleased when she walked by with Dana. She 
never thought of him as an actor before, but this, said Mrs. Belknap 
to herself, looks like consummate acting. Had she known of, or even 
suspected, the existence of a woman who had interposed and cast her 
into the shade, the explanation would have occurred to her at once ; 
but that there was a goddess in the shape of Gladys Maitland within 
a day’s ride of Rossiter she never dreamed for an instant. Believing 
that no other woman could have unseated her, Mrs. Belknap simply 
could not account for such utter — such unutterable — complacency on 
the part of her lately favored admirer in his virtual dismissal. All 
Sunday and Monday she looked for signs of sulking or surrender, but 
looked in vain. Perry seemed unusually grave and silent, was Parke’s 
report of the situation ; but whatever comfort she might have derived 
from that knowledge was utterly destroyed by the way he brightened 
up and looked pleased whenever they chanced to meet. Monday even- 
ing he stopped to speak with her on the walk, holding out his hand 
and fairly beaming upon her : she icily received these demonstrations, 
but failed to chill them or him. Then she essayed to make him suffer 
the pangs of the jilted by clinging to Dana’s arm and smiling up in 
Dana’s face, and then she suddenly started : “ Oh, Mr. Daua ! How 


DUN RAVEN RANCH 


213 


could I have been so thoughtless? — and this is your wounded side!” 
Dana protested that her slight weight was soothing balm, not additional 
pain, and Perry promptly asseverated that if he were Dana he would 
beg her not to quit his arm, and her eyes looked scorn at him as she 
said, “ How can you know anything about it, Mr. Perry ? You’ve 
never been in action or got a scratch, while Mr. Dana” — and now the 
dark eyes spoke volumes as they looked up into those of her escort — 
“ Mr. Dana is one of the heroes of the fighting days of the regiment.” 
Even that failed to crush him ; while it had the effect of making Dana 
feel mawkish and absurd. Perry frankly responded that he only 
wondered the women ever could find time to show any civility whatever 
to fellows like him, when there were so many who “ had records.” She 
was completely at a loss to fathom him, and when tattoo came on Monday 
night, and they were all discussing the project of a run with the hounds 
for the coming morrow, — a May-day celebration on new principles, — 
Mrs. Belknap resolved upon a change of tactics. 

Dana was officer of the guard and over at the guard-house, but nearly 
all the other officers were chatting about the veranda and the gate of 
the colonel’s quarters. Thither had Captain Belknap escorted his pretty 
wife, and she was, as usual, the centre of an interested group. Perry 
came strolling along after reporting the result of tattoo roll-call to the 
adjutant, and Captain Stryker called to him and asked some question 
about the men on stable-guard. The orders of the colonel with regard 
to watching the movements of the men after the night roll-call were 
beirg closely observed, and when the trumpets sounded “ taps,” a few 
moments later, several of the troop-commanders walked away together, 
tnd this left a smaller party. It was just at this juncture that Mrs. 
Belknap’s sweet voice was heard addressing the commanding officer : 

u Oh, colonel ! Ever since Thursday I have been telling Captain 
Belknap about those lovely albums of yours ; and he is so anxious to 
see them. Could he have a look at them to-night ?” 

u Why, certainly !” exclaimed the colonel, all heartiness and pleasure. 
a Come right in, Belknap, come in, — any of you, — all of you, — whert 
it’s good and light.” And he hospitably held open the screen door. 
Perry had seen the albums a dozen times, but he was for going in with 
the others, when he lelt a little hand-pressure on his arm, and Mrs. 
Belknap’s great dark eyes were gazing up into his with mournful, in- 
credulous appeal. 


214 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


u Don’t you know I want to see you ?” she murmured so that only 
he could hear. “ Wait !” 

And, much bewildered, Mr. Perry waited. 

She stood where she could look through the screen door into the 
parlor beyond, watching furtively until the party were grouped under 
the hanging lamps and absorbed in looking over one another’s shoulders 
at the famous albums ; then, beckoning to him to follow, she flitted, 
like some eerie sprite, on tiptoe to the southern end of the veranda, 
where clustering vines hid her from view from the walk along the 
parade. Perry began to feel queer, as he afterwards expressed it, but 
he stalked along after her, declining to modulate the thunder of his 
heavy heels upon the resounding gallery. She put her finger to her 
lips, and, after a nervous glance around, looked at him warningly. 
beseechingly. 

“ What on earth’s the matter ?” was all the perplexed and callow 
youth could find to say, and in a tone so utterly devoid of romance, 
sentiment, tenderness, — anything she wanted to hear, — that in all her 
experience — and she had had not a little — pretty, bewitching little 
Mrs. Belknap could recall nothing so humiliating. 

“ How can you be so unkind to me ?” at last she whispered, in the 
tragic tremolo she well knew to be effective : it had done execution 
over and again. But big, handsome Ned Perry looked only like one 
in a maze ; then he bent over her in genuine concern : 

“ Why, Mrs. Belknap ! What has happened ? What has gone 
wrong? What do you mean by unkind ness?” 

She faced him, indignantly now : “ Is it possible you profess not to 
know ?” 

“ By all that’s holy, Mrs. Belknap, I haven’t an idea of what you 
mean to charge me with. Tell me, and I’ll make every amend I know 
how.” 

He was bending over her in genuine distress and trouble : he had 
no thought but to assure her of his innocence of any conscious wrong. 
She was leaning upon the balcony rail, and he rested one strong hand 
upon the post at the shaded corner, above her head, as he bowed his 
own to catch her reply. 

For a moment she turned her face away, her bosom heaving, her 
little hands clasping nervously, the picture of wronged and sorrowing 
womanhood. His blunt, rugged honesty was something she had never 
yet had to deal with. This indeed was “ game worth the candle,” but 


DUN RAVEN RANCH, 


215 


something of a higher order than the threadbare flirtations she had 
found so. palatable heretofore. She had expected him to be revealed 
by this time as the admirer who had only been playing a part in his 
apparent acceptance of the situation of the last two days ; she expected 
to be accused of coquetting with Dana, of neglect, coldness, insult 
towards himself; and this she would have welcomed: it would have 
shown dm still a victim in her toils, a mouse she might toy and play 
with indefinitely before bestowing the final coup de grace. But instead 
of it, or anything like it, here stood the tall, handsome young fellow, 
utterly ignoring the possibility of her having wronged him, and only 
begging to be told how he had affronted her, that he might make im- 
mediate amends. It was simply exasperating. She turned suddenly 
upon hin, hiding her face in her hands, almost sobbing : 

“ Anc I thought we were such — such friends !” 

Even that suggestive tentative did not lay him prostrate. Fancy 
the utter nadequacy of his response : 

“ Wh T , so did 1 !” This was too much. Down came the hands, 
and were laid in frantic appeal upon his breast. He did not bar the 
way ; she could have slipped from the corner without difficulty ; but 
the ether method was more dramatic. 

(l Let me go, Mr. Perry,” she pleaded. “ I — I might have known ; 
I mght have known.” The accents were stifled, heart-rending. 

‘ Don’t go yet, Mrs. Belknap ; don’t go without telling me what — 
whi I’ve done.” And poor Ned imploringly seized the little hands 
in loth his and held them tight. “ Please tell me,” he pleaded. 

u No, no ! You would not understand ; you do not see what 
I lave to bear. Let me go, I beg, — please. I cannot stay.” And 
hei great dark eyes, swimming in tears, were raised to his face, while 
wih faint — very faint — struggles she strove to pull her hands away, 
reenting in her purpose to go the moment she felt that he was relaxing 
tb hold in which they were clasped, but suddenly wrenching them 
fnm his breast and darting from his side, leaving Perry in much 
bwilderment to face about and confront the doctor. 

A little opening had been left in the railing at the south end of the 
'eranda, — the same through which the post surgeon had passed the 
light Mrs. Lawrence had shown to Perry the answering signal-light : 
t was the doctor’s “ short cut” between the colonel’s quarters and his 
own side-door, and soft, unbetraying turf lay there between. Absorbed 
in her melodrama, Mrs. Belknap had failed to note the coming of the 


216 


I) UNRA VEN RANCH. 


intruder; absorbed in his own stupefaction and his fair partner's 
apparent depth of woe, Ned Perry heard nothing but her soft words 
and softer sighs, until a deep voice at his shoulder — a voice whose accent 
betrayed no apology for the discovery and less sympathy for the dis- 
covered — gave utterance to this uncompromising sentiment : 

“ Mrs. Belknap, this is the thirtieth — not the first — of April/ . 

“ And what has that to do with your sudden appearance, Dr. Quin ?" 
answered the lady, with smiling lips but flashing eyes. She Rallied 
from the shock of sudden volley like the veteran she was, and t<pk the 
brunt of the fight on her own white, gleaming shoulders, neecfmg no 
aid from the young fellow who stood there, flushing, annoyed, ^et too 
perturbed to say a word even had there been a chance to get one in 
edgewise. Blunt as he was, he could not but realize the awkwardness 
of the situation. And to be so misjudged by such a man as Di Quin ! 
All this was flashing through his mind as the doctor answered!— 

“ Nothing with my appearance, Mrs. Belknap : it was yom I re- 
marked upon. You seemed to think it All Fools' Day." 

“ Far from it, doctor, when I thought you miles away." 

"Well, well, Mrs. Belknap," said Quin, shrugging hte broad 
shoulders and laughing at her undaunted pluck, “I've known vou 
fifteen years, and never have found you at a loss for a sharp retort .' 1 

“ In all the years you have known me, doctor, as child, as maid^as 
woman, you are the only man in the army who ever put me on he 
defensive. I see clearly that you would taunt me because of this inter- 
view with Mr. Perry. Honi soit qui mal y pense , Dr. Quin ! You re 
the last man in this garrison — cavalry and all — who can afford to throw 
stones." 

“ Whew-w-w !" whistled the doctor. “ What a little spitfire yci 
always were, to be sure ! — Mr. Perry," said he, turning suddenly on tie 
young officer, “ let me at once apologize for a very misleading observe 
tion. When I spoke of having known Mrs. Belknap fifteen years sh 
instantly thought I meant to make her out very much older than sht 
is ; and hence these recriminations. She always objected to me because 
I used to tease her when she was in her first long dresses, — the prettiest 
girl at Fort Leavenworth, — and she's never gotten over it. But her 
father and I were good friends, and I should like to be an honest one 
to his daughter. Good-night to you both." 

“One moment, Dr. Quin," said Perry, springing forward. “You 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


217 


have seen fit to make comments and insinuations that have annoyed 
Mrs. Belknap at a time when she was under my escort ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Perry, no ! no !” exclaimed Mrs. Belknap, laying her 
hand on his arm. “Not a word of that kind, I implore! Hash! 
here comes my husband.” 

“ Ah, Belknap,” said the doctor, blandly, as the big captain came 
hurriedly forth with searching glance along the dark gallery, “ here you 
find me, as usual, trying to be devoted to Mrs. B. whenever I can get 
you out of the way. Why the jeuce can’t you stay ?” 

“ Oh, it’s you, is it, doctor ?” answered the captain, in tones of 
evident relief. “ It is far too chilly for this young woman to be sitting 
here without a wrap, is it not ? Come inside, Dolly. Come, doctor. — 
Halloo ! what’s that ?” 

A cavalry trumpeter came springing through the gate and up on 
the veranda. 

“ Is Captain Stryker here ?” he panted. 

“No. What’s the matter?” demanded Perry. 

“ Trouble at the stables, sir. Sergeant Gwynne’s assaulted again.” 

Perry sprang from the veranda and went tearing across the dark 
level of the parade as fast as active legs could carry him, leaving the 
doctor far behind. As he passed the company quarters he noted that 
several men were leaping from their broad galleries, some just pulling 
on a blouse, others in their shirt-sleeves, but all hastening towards the 
stables, where dim lights could be seen flitting about like will-o’-the- 
wisps. One of these troopers came bounding to his side, and would 
have passed him in the race. He recognized the athletic form even in 
the darkness, and hailed him : 

“ That you, Sergeant Leary ? What’s gone wrong ?” 

“ It’s thim blackguards from below, sir. Who else could it be ?” 

“ Those people at the ranch ?” 

“ The very ones, sir. No one else would harm Sergeant G wynne. 
Sure we ought to have wound ’em up the one night we had a chance, 
sir.” 

Breathless, almost, they reached the stables. The horses were all 
snorting, stamping, and plunging about in their stalls, showing every 
indication of excitement and alarm. From the stables of the adjoining 
companies other men had come with lanterns, and a group of perhaps 
half a dozen troopers was gathered about the form of a cavalry sergeant 
who was seated, limp and exhausted, at the western door-way. One 
K 19 


218 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


soldier was bathing his face with a sponge ; the first sergeant of the 
troop was bending over and trying to feel the pulse. 

“ Stand back, you men !” he said, authoritatively, as he caught 
sight of the lieutenant’s shoulder-straps. “ Leave a lantern here. — Now, 
Gwynne, here’s Lieutenant Perry. Can you tell him who it was ?” 

Gwynne feebly strove to rise, but Perry checked him. 

“ Sit down ! The doctor is coming ; don’t attempt to move,” panted 
the young officer. “ Tell me what you know about it, Sergeant Hos- 
mer.” i 

“ Nothing but this, sir. I was in the office, when Trumpeter Peter- 
sen ran in and said they were killing Sergeant Gwynne. I sent him 
for the captain and grabbed my revolver and ran here as hard as I could. 
He was lying just outside the door when I got here, and not another 
soul in sight. Sergeant Ross, of F Troop, and Sergeant Fagan, of B, 
came with their lanterns from the stables next door ; but they had not 
even heard the trouble.” 

“ Where was the stable-guard ?” 

“ Inside, sir, and he’s there now. He heard the scuffle, he says, 
and ran to give the alarm and to protect the sergeant, but the men 
scattered when he came, and he saw none of them.” 

“ Tell him to come here. Let some of these men go in and quiet 
the horses. The captain will be here in a minute, and he will want to 
see that stable-man. Who is it ?” 

"Kelly, sir.” 

By this time Dr. Quin came lumbering heavily up the slope to the 
stable door. His manner was very quiet and very grave as he bent 
over the injured man and carefully studied his face by the light of the 
sergeant’s lamp. Gwynne partially opened his eyes and turned his 
head as though the glare were too painful. The doctor spoke gently : 

“You know me, sergeant? — Dr. Quin. Can you tell me what 
struck you? Are you hurt elsewhere than in the head ?” 

Gwynne made no reply for a moment, then faintly answered, — 

“ Stunned, mainly, and one or two kicks after I was knocked down.” 

Then came a deeper voice, quiet but authoritative, and the group 
that had begun to close in again about the doctor and his patient fell 
back as Captain Stryker strode into their midst. 

“ Sergeant Hosmer, send all these men of the troop back to theii 
quarters at once, and permit no more to come out. — Is he much hurt, 
doctor ?” 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


219 


“ Somewhat stunned, he says. I’ve made no examination yet.” 

The captain looked about him. Except one sergeant holding a 
lantern, the other troopers, obedient to his order, were slowly fading 
back into the darkness on their way to the barracks. Only the doctor, 
Mr. Perry, and the sergeant remained by the side of the injured man. 
Then came the question, — 

“ Who did this, Gwynne ?” 

No answer. A deeper shade of pain and trouble seemed to pass 
over the young sergeant’s face. He made an effort to speak, hesitated, 
and at last replied, — 

“ I cannot say, sir.” 

“ You know, do you not ?” 

Again pained silence and embarrassment. At last the sergeant 
leaned slowly forward and spoke : 

“ Captain, the men were masked, the voices disguised. I could not 
see the dress in the darkness. I was struck on the head almost the 
instant I got outside the door, and it would be impossible for me to 
identify one of them.” 

“ Do you think it was the same gang you had the trouble with at 
Dunraven ?” 

“ I — could not say, sir.” 

“ Do you suspect any of our own men ?” 

“ I — would not say that, sir.” 

“ Where is the stable-guard?” asked Stryker. “Send him 
here.” 

And presently Trooper Kelly — a wiry little Irishman, with a 
twinkling eye and an expression of mingled devilment and imperturba- 
bility in his face — came forth from the stable door and stood attention, 
awaiting his examination. 

“ Where were you when this assault took place, Kelly ?” 

“ At the far end of the stables, sir,” replied Kelly, with prompt 
and confident tone. 

“ Then of course you saw and know nothing of it.” 

“ Not a wor-rad, sir.” 

“ Why did you let a gang from that English ranch come here and 
beat your sergeant before your very eyes ?” 

Kelly reddened at the very idea : 

“ Pd ha’ died first, sir ! Sure they’d niver dared- 


And then 


220 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


Kelly stopped short. His Celtic pride had been touched to the quick, 
and had it not proved too much for even Irish wit ? 

“ How did they get the sergeant out of the stable at this hour of 
the night ?” 

“ Sure they called him out, sir.” 

“ And the sergeant happened to be down there by the door at the 
time ?” 

“ No, sir : he was in his room, beyant, — up there by the forage.” 

“ That’s a long distance from this door, Kelly ; and if he could 
hear it in his room you could hear it farther away.” 

“ I wasn’t farther away thin, sir: I was down here when they 
axed for him.” 

Then why didn’t you open the door and see who was making such 
a racket, shouting for Sergeant Gwynne after taps ?” 

“ Sure they didn’t shout at all at all, sir ; they axed for him quiet 
and respectable like, an’ I wint and told him.” 

“ Ah, yes, I see. And then, having told him, you went away to 
the far end of the stable.” 

“ Yis, sir, — -just so, sir ; an’ the moment I heard the scrimmidge, 
sir, I ran as hard as I could.” 

“Of course you considered it was none of your business what 
people might want with the stable-sergeant at night.” 

“ No, sir. If he wanted me he had a right to tell me to come.” 

“We differ on that point, Kelly,” said the captain, quietly. “ For 
a guard, you displayed a lack of curiosity that is simply fatal. — Relieve 
him, Sergeant Hosmer,” he continued, placidly, and then, taking Perry 
by the arm, led him to one side. There was a few minutes’ low-toned 
talk between the officers while Gwynne was being led away by the 
doctor, and when on the following morning Colonel Brainard looked 
over the report of Captain Stryker’s troop he was surprised to note in 
the column of remarks explanatory of the alterations from the status 
of the previous day, — 

“Sergeant Gwynne from daily duty as stable-sergeant to sick in 
hospital, Sergeant Leary from duty to arrest, and Private Kelly from 
duty to confinement.” 

XIII. 

Notwithstanding the fact that there was an atmosphere of suppressed 
excitement over the garrison this May-day morning, Mrs. Belknap’s 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


221 


hunt came off according to plan, and the three heroines of the previous 
run rode forth with but slight change of escort. Captain Stryker felt 
constrained to remain in garrison : he had a quiet investigation to make, 
and was observed to be in close conversation with Dr. Quin as the gay 
party assembled in front of Colonel Brainard’s quarters. Mr. Perry 
appeared in his captain’s stead, and very politely requested the honor 
of being escort to Mrs. Lawrence, who accepted, yet looked a trifle em- 
barrassed as she did so. Indeed, not until she had stolen an appealing 
glance at her husband and heard his cordial “ By all means, dear : 
Perry can guide you far better than I, and perhaps you’ll win another 
mask,” did she thankfully say “ Yes.” Dana rode with Mrs. Belknap, 
as before, and it was the colonel himself who suggested to Stryker that 
Mr. Perry should accompany Mrs. Lawrence this day, and that he, the 
colonel, should ride with Mrs. Sprague. 

Perry had eagerly lent himself to the proposition : he figured that 
now he could have an uninterrupted chat with Mrs. Lawrence and hear 
what she had to tell about Dunraven. Just before starting he sought 
Captain Lawrence, laughingly told him the terms of their agreement, 
and begged that he would relax his marital injunction and permit her 
to give him such details as she happened to be in possession of. “ In- 
deed, Captain Lawrence,” he said, “ I ask from no idle curiosity. I 
have been to the ranch, as you now know, and have good reason for 
asking.” To his surprise, the captain replied substantially that, while 
he had regretted Mrs. Lawrence’s impulsive revelations, he had thought 
it all over and decided that the best way out was that Perry should be 
told the whole story and be able to see how very little there was to it. 
He had decided, therefore, to tell him himself; “ and this evening, 
Perry, if you will dine with us informally, we’ll talk it over afterwards. 
Meantime, I prefer Mrs. Lawrence’s name should not be mentioned in 
connection with any story there may be afloat : so oblige me by saying 
nothing to her on the subject.” 

This was one matter for reflection, and something of a surprise ; 
but there was still another, and even greater one. That very morning, 
just before guard-mount, and while he was dressing, Perry shouted, 
“ Come in,” responsive to a knock at his sitting-room door, and in came 
Captain Stryker. The object of his early call was explained in very 
few words. 

“ Perry,” said he, “ I have been over to see Sergeant Gwynne this 
morning, and the doctor walked back from hospital with me and told 

19 * 


222 


DVNRAVEN RANCH. 


me of your threatened disagreement of last night. If it had not been 
for that sudden call to the stables I fancy there might have been a 
quarrel. Now, I think you know Fm one of the last men to let an 
> officer of my regiment — especially my troop — be placed in a false posi- 
tion, and — you can afford to leave this matter in my hands, can you 
not ?” 

“ Certainly, Captain Stryker.” 

“ Then I want you to say nothing to Quin on the subject, and to 
treat him, as far as possible, as though nothing had happened. His 
relations with the lady’s father and family were, and are, such that she 
ought to treat him with respect and deference, and to accept his advicf 
even though it be given in a style that Carlyle, his favorite author, if 
mainly responsible for.” 

“ There was absolutely nothing in — in that Well, captain,” 

stammered poor Ned, “ I don’t know how to say what I want to say.” 
He wanted to say there was nothing in that interview which could 
possibly be criticised, but it suddenly occurred to him that, on the con- 
trary, there was a good deal. Then he desired to assure his captain 
that, so far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a suspicion of wrong- 
doing ; but — heavens and earth ! — that was equivalent to saying the 
lady was doing all that was open to remark, and nothing would ever 
induce him to “ give away a woman,” as he would have expressed it. 
Perry stammered and reddened all the more, and at last gave it up in 
despair, Stryker sitting there the while with a quiet grin on his bronzed 
face, and mechanically slashing his boot-legs with a riding-switch. 

u I think I understand the situation, Perry, and there’s no great 
harm done. Only, let the matter drop, — so far as the doctor is con- 
cerned, I mean : 1 do not presume to obtrude advice upon you as to 
anything else.” 

And, though he had meditated a different course, and had fully in- 
tended hunting up Dana and sending him with a note to call upon the 
doctor for an “ explanation,” he was glad to have a man of Stryker’s 
standing cry halt. All the same he was sore incensed against Dr. 
Quin, — mainly because of the jealous pain he suffered at the knowledge 
of his being so welcomed by Gladys Maitland when he saw fit to visit 
the ranch ; and this pain gnawed all the more angrily now at thought 
of the embarrassing — even suspicious — situation in which that very 
man had found him on the previous evening. Pressing duties and 
nurried preparations kept him from brooding too much upon these sore 


I) UNRAVEN RANCH. 


223 


points, but the youngsters all rallied him upon his preoccupation while 
at their merry breakfast-table. He had resolved that there was one 
thing he could and would bring to an issue with Dr. Quin, and was all 
impatience for the coming of evening, that he might hear from the lips 
of Captain Lawrence the actual stories that had been in circulation con- 
cerning Dunraven Ranch. He never went out to a hunt so utterly 
indifferent to the fortunes of the day, so eager to have it all over and 
done with. And yet — and yet — never had there opened to him a day 
so radiant with glorious possibility ; never before in all his young life 
had nightfall proved so unwelcome when it finally came. 

The first rabbit was started before they were a mile from Rossiter, 
and the hounds tumbled over him nearly a league away down the 
valley of the Monee. It was while they were watering their horses in 
the stream that Mrs. Belknap rode up beside them and laughingly 
addressed Mrs. Lawrence : 

“ That was too much of a straight-away for either of us, Mrs. 
Lawrence ; but what wager shall we have on the first mask after this ?** 
“ Why, Mrs. Belknap ! I can never hope to rival you. It was 
mere accident, and good guiding on the part of some of the officers who 
were kind enough to stay by me, that enabled me to be ‘in at the death* 
the other day.” 

“ You have Mr. Perry to lead you to-day. Surely with such a 
guide you ought to be inspired. — Am I to see anything of you to-day ?” 
she almost whispered to him, as her stirrup brushed his riding-boot. 

“ Certainly/* he answered, quietly, and looking her over with frank 
blue eyes that were rather too clear and calm for her mood. “ If Mrs. 
Lawrence will excuse me a few moments by and by, it will be a pleasure 
to come and ride with you. 1*11 ask her.** 

“ Indeed you shall not,** was the low-toned reply, while the dark 
eyes fairly snapped with indignation. “ I do not borrow other women’s 
escort. If you know no other way, that ends it.** 

And then Mrs. Sprague’s cheery voice had hailed them as her 
eager horse came splashing into the stream ; no opportunity occurred 
for further impressive remarks, but as the “ field” rode out upon the 
prairie again and the dogs spread their yelping skirmish-line along the 
front, Mrs. Belknap felt confident that before they returned to Rossiter 
she would have her big, simple-hearted admirer in some shape for dis- 
cipline. Two capital runs added to her self-satisfaction, for in one of 
them she was side by side with the foremost rider at the finish, and in 


224 


D UNRA VEN RANCH. 


both she had left the other women far in rear. Then came a third, and 
with it a revelation to one and all. 

It was almost noon, and from a point well out on the prairie to the 
northeast of Dunraven the “ field” was hunting slowly homeward, horses 
and hounds pretty well tired out, and the riders quite content with their 
morning’s sport. Up to this time Perry had been in constant attend- 
ance on Mrs. Lawrence, and had made no effort to join Mrs. Belknap. 
Now, however, he could not but see that every little while her eyes 
sought his with significant glance and that she was riding well out to 
the left of the party, Dana faithfully hovering about her. The colonel 
with Mrs. Sprague ranged alongside just then, and a general conversa- 
tion ensued, in the course of which Perry found himself a trifle in the 
way. If there was. one thing fastidious Nolan did not like, it was to 
be crowded by horses for whom he had no particular respect ; and, as a 
number of riders were grouped about Mrs. Lawrence at the moment, 
it resulted that Nolan’s teeth and heels began to make play, and Perry 
laughingly resigned his position at her side, in order, as he expressed it, 
“ to give you other fellows a chance.” Even then, as he fell to the rear, 
it was with no thought or intention of joining Mrs. Belknap. But, once 
clear of the merry group, his eyes sought the distant outlines of Dun- 
raven Banch, glaring in the noonday sun beyond the Monee, and be- 
tween him and that mysterious enclosure whither his thoughts were so 
constantly wandering there rode the dainty lady, the Queen of the Chase, 
so far as that day was concerned at least, and she was signalling to him 
with her riding-whip. Oddly enough, when Perry rode up to obey hei 
summons, Mr. Dana presently found means to excuse himself and join 
the main body. 

“ Mr. Perry,” she said, as soon as Dana was out of hearing, “ Mrs, 
Page will be with us to-night, or to-morrow morning at latest.” 

“ Will she?” answered he, unconscious, forgetful, and with an air 
of pleased anticipation. “ How pleasant for you ! I’ll come and pay 
my respects the very first thing.” 

“ You do not understand,” was the reproachful response. “ You 
do not care, I presume ; but this means that you and I will have no 
more long talks and happy times together.” 

“ I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Belknap, but I’m blessed if I can see 
^hy we shouldn’t.” 

“ No,” despairingly, “ it is plain enough that you see nothing. Ah, 
well !”— -and the sigh was pathetic-profound, and the look from the 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


225 


dark eyes was unutterable in its sadness, “ I suppose it is better so, — 
better so.” She was silent a moment, and Perry’s puzzled faculties took 
refuge in a long look over towards Dunraven again : he fancied he saw 
figures moving down the slope on the southern side. 

“ One thing I want you to promise me,” she presently said, sad and 
soft and low. There was no reply. Looking up, she saw his head 
was averted. Was he feeling the sting, then, after all? Was he 
actually suffering a little pang after this affectation of nonchalance? 

“ One thing you must promise, for my sake,” she repeated. 

And still no answer came. How odd ! He was bending over in 
the saddle as though turning from her, — perhaps to hide his face from 
her and from them all. He had shifted the reins into his right hand, 
and was apparently fumbling at the breast of his riding-coat with the 
left. Was it the handkerchief he needed? Were there starting tears 
in those blue eyes that he dared not let her see ? She could not lose 
that luxury ! Out went the little hand and touched his arm. Her 
tone was sweet, thrilling, appealing, yet commanding : she would see his 
face. 

“ Mr. Perry , — Ned ! Look at me.” 

“ Eh ! oh ! What ! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Belknap, but I was 
trying to make out who that was in the timber yonder. Looks — looks 
almost like a woman on horseback, doesn’t it?” 

But when he appealed to her for confirmation of his timid, half- 
credulous vision he was aghast at the look in her face. 

“You were not listening ! You were not even thinking of what I 
was saying !” she began, her white teeth set, her soft lips livid with 
wrath ; but she suddenly controlled herself, — none too soon, for Dana 
came trotting up. 

“ Say, Perry, what do you make that out to be down there in the 
valley ? Colonel Brainard and I feel sure it’s a lady on horseback.” 

And, looking at Perry, Mrs. Belknap saw that he had flushed to 
the very temples, — that an eager, joyous light had sprung to his eyes ; 
but before she could say a word there came a shout from the huntsman, 
a yell from the leading line, a simultaneous yelp from the curs and 
mongrels among the “ irregulars,” and her horse leaped at the bit and 
went tearing off towards the Monee, foremost in mad pursuit of a 
wildly careering “jack.” 

“ Come !” she called, as she glanced over her shoulder ; but the 
sight was one that only added to her wrath. Nolan, plunging and 
K* 


226 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


snorting, was held to the spot, while his rider, sitting like a centaur, 
was still eagerly gazing over into the distant cottonwoods. The next 
instant she realized that all the field were thundering at her heels, and 
the instinct of the sportsman came to her aid. She could not be beaten 
in the chase. 

For half a mile Bunny shot like a streak of light straight away 
southwestward, the hounds bunched in a slaty, sweeping cloud not 
thirty yards behind the bobbing tuft of his tail. Then he began a 
long circle towards the stream, as though to head for a “ break” that 
extended some rods back from the line of bluffs. Another minute, and 
he had reached its partial shelter and darted in. For the next minute 
he was lost to sight of his human pursuers, but presently flashed into 
view again down in the creek-bottom and “ streaking it” up along the 
northern bank, with the whole pack at his heels. The bluffs were steep 
just here, some of the riders a trifle timid, and all the “ field” reined 
in a little as they made the descent ; Dana, Mrs. Belknap, Parke, Mrs. 
Lawrence, Graham, the colonel, and Mrs. Sprague straightened out for 
their pursuit in the order named the instant they reached the level of 
the valley. The hounds were far ahead by this time, and the two light 
troopers in charge of them close at their heels ; but who — what was 
the figure that flashed into view between those huntsmen and the field, 
darting like arrow from the fringe of willows and dashing straight in 
wake of the quarry? Thirty yards ahead of the foremost riders of 
the Rossiter party a superb English hunter, the bit in his teeth, his 
eyes afire and his head high in air, fresh, vigorous, raging with long- 
imprisoned passion for the sport of the old island home, gaining on 
the hounds at every stride, and defying the utmost efforts of his rider, 
leaped from the covert of the timber into sight of one and all, bearing 
a lovely but most reluctant victim on his back. 

In vain with might and main she leaned back and tugged at the 
reins : though checked in his speed, the horse still tore ahead, keeping 
straight for the hounds, leaping in his easy stride every little gully or 
“ branch” that crossed his path. Bunny took a sudden dive into the 
timber, fairly flew across a narrow, gravelly rapid, and darted up on 
the opposite bank ; the hounds veered in pursuit, the huntsmen wavered 
and sought along the bank for a better place to cross, but the mettlesome 
English bay lunged through in the very wake of the hounds, crumbling 
the sandy banks and crashing through the pebbly stream-bed. Out on 
the southern slopes went Bunny, close followed by the hounds ; out on 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


227 


their trail went the big hunter, but his rider’s hat has been brushed 
away in the wild dash though the timber, and now a flame of beautiful 
golden hair — a great wave of light — flies on the wind over his glossy 
back, and, though she still leans over the cantle tugging hard at the 
reins, she is plainly losing strength. Some of the Possiter party burst 
through the timber in pursuit ; some still ride hopefully up the north 
bank, and these are rewarded, for once again poor, badgered, bewildered 
Bunny makes a sudden swerve, and, throwing half the hounds far be- 
hind, darts a second time to the shelter of the banks, with the other 
half closer at his heels than before. Those who are watching see the 
big hunter make a long, circular sweep, then once again bring up in 
the wake of the leaders, once more go leaping, plunging, crashing 
through the stream, and, in another minute, rabbit, hounds, huntsmen, 
the “ field,” and the fair incognita are all strung out in chase along the 
northern shore, and all eyes can see that she is an English girl and 
wellnigh exhausted. Still, no man can catch that hunter and lay 
hands on the rein. She is riding with the very foremost now, leading 
the troopers, even, and still Bunny spins along in front, the hounds gnash- 
ing not six feet behind him. A little point of bluff juts out just 
ahead ; the stream winds around its base and takes a turn northward 
for a dozen rods. Bunny shoots the turn like the pilot of the lightning 
express, the hounds strain to make it without loss of vantage gained, 
the big hunter sways outward to the very verge of the steep and 
crumbling bank, and a groan goes up from the breathless pursuers ; 
but he rallies and straightens once more in the track, and the golden 
hair, streaming in the advance, is the oriflamme of the chase. Then as 
they round the point Dana gives a shout of joy. Straight down the 
slopes, straight and swift as rode the daring hussar from whom he got 
his name, when he bore the fatal message like arrow-flight from the 
Sapoune crest at Balaklava, down the bluffs to the right front comes 
Nolan, with Ned Perry on his back, — Perry with set, resolute, yet 
almost frenzied face, — Perry with eyes that flash blue fire in the in- 
tensity of their gaze, — and Nolan's vigorous strides have brought 
him in circling sweep, in just ten seconds more, close to the hunter’s 
quarter, close behind the fluttering skirt. Just ahead there is another 
sudden turn to the left : the stream goes one way, the bluffs another, 
and between them lies a five-acre patch of level prairie thickly studded, 
here, there, everywhere, with tiny earthen mounds and tiny, gaping, 
treacherous holes, — a prairie-dog ullage, by all that’s awful ! and that 


228 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


runaway hunter, mad in the chase of the sweeping hounds, is in the 
midst of it before mortal hand can check or swerve him. Another 
second, and they who pursue have veered to right or left or reined up 
on the verge, — all save one. Never faltering, Ned Perry is at her 
hunter’s quarter, — almost at her side. They see him spurring, they see 
him bending eagerly towards her, they see that he is shouting something 
to her, — Heaven knows what ! Then there is a groan of misery and 
dread from a dozen breasts, — a groan that as suddenly bursts into the 
gladdest of cheers : the hunter’s forefoot has caught in one of the thou- 
sand little death-traps; down he goes, plunging, heaving, quivering, 
rolling over and over; but Nolan leaps gallantly ahead, and Ned Perry’s 
strong arm has lifted the girl from the saddle as her steed goes crashing 
to earth, and bears her, drooping, faint, frightened, wellnigh senseless, 
but safe and clasped tight to his thankful and exultant heart. 

Another instant, and Nolan is reined in in the very midst of the 
tumbling hounds, and Gladys Maitland is the only woman “ in at the 


XIV. 

The group that gathers there a moment later is as interested a 
party as the central figures are interesting. Unable to set her left foot 
to the ground, and still encircled by Perry’s arm, Miss Maitland stands 
leaning heavily on his breast. She is very pale for a moment, partly 
from exhaustion, partly from pain, for there was no time to free her 
foot from the stirrup, and the ankle is severely wrenched. Nolan, 
riderless now and cast loose, stands with lowered head and heaving 
flanks a sympathetic but proudly heroic looker-on : he knows he has 
played his part in that rescue. The huge English hunter is plunging 
in misery among the mounds a few yards back, his fore-leg broken. 
One of the troopers has seized his bridle, and another is unstrapping 
the heavy English saddle. “ Splendidly done !” says the colonel, as 
he trots carefully up, casting a glance at the fallen cause of all the mis- 
chief, “ but if that saddle had been one of those three-pronged abomi- 
nations he couldn’t have swept her off as he did.” Graham has 
galloped to the stream for water, and the colonel lifts Mrs. Sprague 
from her saddle, and together they advance to offer sympathy and aid. 
Mrs. Lawrence follows as quickly as she can pick her way among the 
prairie-dog holes. Dana has deserted Mrs. Belknap, and she alone 
remains mounted while all these others throng about the two who stand 


I) UNR A YEN RANCH. 


229 


theie for the moment, clinging to each other. And now Gladys Mait- 
land has raised her head; blushes of shame and confusion triumph 
over pallor and pain ; she strives to stand alone, but Perry bids her 
desist. The moment she sees Mrs. Sprague’s sweet, womanly, sympa- 
thetic face her eyes are filled with comfort and her heart goes out to 
her. Most reluctantly Perry resigns his prize to the arms that open to 
receive her, and then come the wondering exclamations of some, and 
the brief, breathless explanations. 

“ Don’t try to talk yet,” pleads Mrs. Sprague. “We are only too 
glad it was no worse.” 

“ Indeed, I’m not hurt,” answers Gladys, bravely, — “ only a little 
wrench, but,” and she laughs nervously, trying to carry it off with all 
the pluck and spirit of her race, “ it would have been what we call a 
* nasty cropper’ at home if” — and her eyes turn shyly yet with a world 
of gratitude to his — “ it had not been for Mr. Perry.” 

“ Oh, then you know Mr. Perry !” exclaims Mrs. Sprague, with 
frank delight, and Mrs. Lawrence turns in rejoicing to look first in his 
glowing face, then at the dark beauty of Mrs. Belknap silently listen- 
ing. “ Why, we had no idea— — And she concludes irresolutely. 

“ Oh, yes : we met at the ranch, — at home. I am Miss Maitland, 
you know ; and that is my father’s place. But we’ve only just come,’ 
she adds, with the woman’s natural desire to explain to new-found 
friends why and how it was that they had not met before. And then 
the group is joined by a bulky young Briton in the garb of a groom, 
though modified to suit the requirements of frontier life: he comes 
cantering to the scene all elbows and consternation ; he gives a groan of 
dismay at sight of the prostrate hunter, but rides directly to his mis- 
tress. She is paling again now, and in evident pain, and Perry’s face 
is a study as he stands, his eyes riveted upon her ; but she strives to 
smile and reassure him. 

“ You’ll have to ride to Dunr — to the ranch, Griggs,” she said ; 
“and — there’s no help for it — papa will have to be told. Let them 
send for me.” 

“ Pardon me, Miss Maitland,” interrupted Colonel Brainard. 
“ You are almost under the walls of Fort Bossiter, and Dunraven is 
miles away. I have sent a swift horse for Dr. Quin and a spring am- 
bulance. We cannot let you go home, now that you are so near us, 
until you have had rest and proper care.” 

“Indeed we cannot, Miss Maitland,” chimed in both ladies at a 

20 


230 


D UNRAVEN RANCH 


breath. “ You are to come right to my house until you are fit to 
travel.” 

“ Fm not very fit just now, certainly,” she answers, with a faint 
smile ; “ but I can surely wait here until they send : ’twill not be 
more than an hour at most.” 

“ It will be two hours, — perhaps three, — Miss Maitland,” pleaded 
Perry, bending eagerly forward. “Do listen to our ladies !” 

And “ our ladies” prevailed. While Griggs went sputtering off to 
Dunraven with the sorrowful news, the strong arms of Perry and 
Graham lifted and bore their English captive to the shade of a clump 
of cottonwoods. Mrs. Sprague and Mrs. Lawrence managed to make 
a little couch for her as a temporary resort. Mrs. Belknap rode up and 
was formally introduced, then galloped away to Rossiter to send blankets 
for the picnic-couch and see to the pillows of the ambulance. The 
colonel and Perry remained with the ladies and engrossed their atten- 
tion while Graham went back and sent two pistol-bullets into the strug- 
gling hunter’s brain, stilling his pain forever. Then came Dr. Quin 
galloping like the wind down the familiar trail, chiding “ Gladys” as 
though his right to do so were a long-established thing, and thereby 
setting Perry’s teeth on edge, and, long before the call for afternoon 
stables was sounding, the fair daughter of Dunraven Ranch was housed 
within the walls of Rossiter and the “ ice was broken.” Perry had 
had the joy of helping carry her into Mrs. Sprague’s coolest and cosiest 
room. She had held forth her hand — such a long, white, beautiful 
hand — and let it rest in his while she said, “ You know how impossible 
it is for me to tell you how I thank you, Mr. Perry,” and he had simply 
bowed over it, longing to say what he thought, but powerless to think 
of anything else ; and then he had gone to his own quarters and shut 
himself in. Mrs. Sprague — bless her ! — had invited him to call aftei 
retreat, and he had totally forgotten the Lawrences’ dinner when he 
said he would be only too glad to come. 

At the sounding of stable -call his darky servant banged at the 
door and roused him from his revery. He rose mechanically and went 
out into the broad sunshine, glancing first along the row to see how 
things were looking at the Spragues’, and wishing with all his heart 
that they were somewhere within reach of a conservatory, that he might 
send a heaping box of fresh and dewy roses to that sacred room where 
she lay. How many a time, he thought, had he strolled into some 
odorous shop in the cities where his “ leaves” were spent, and carelessly 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


231 


ordered cut flowers by the cubic foot sent with his card to some one 
with whom he had danced the german the night before and never ex- 
pected to see again ! What wouldn’t he give now for just a few of 
those wasted, faded, forgotten flowers ! He could see that the window 
was raised in the room to which they had carried her, and a soft breeze 
was playing in the folds of the white curtain ; but no one was visible. 
Dreamily, and with no thought or look for other beingo in the little 
garrison, he strode across the parade. An ambulance, dusty and travel- 
stained, was in front of Belknap’s, and a couple of trunks— unmis- 
takably feminine property — were being unloaded. He could have seen 
it, had he glanced over his left shoulder, and drawn the inference that 
“ Mrs. Page” had arrived ; but his thoughts were engrossed in the other 
direction. Then Graham came bounding along to join him, and near 
the quarters stood Captain Stryker, waiting for him, and both of them 
were unwilling to talk of anything but his exploit of a few hours 
before : it was all over the garrison by this time, and so was the news 
that Dunraven’s fair and hitherto unknown mistress was now the guest 
of Fort Rossiter. All his jollity and gladness seemed to have ebbed 
away. Perry almost wished she were back at Dunraven and that no 
one knew of her existence but himself and that he were kneeling beside 
her once again, aiding her in restoring her stricken father to conscious- 
ness. But then he thought of the sudden arrival that had so discon- 
certed him that night, and to-day again. What did it mean that Quin 
assumed such airs of authority ? How dare he call her Gladys ? 

Stables that afternoon proved a sore trial to him. Graham had to 
leave and go to his own troop ; Parke took his place, and was all 
lively enthusiasm and congratulation, yet wondering at the mood in 
which he found his friend. Stryker, after shaking his hand and say- 
ing a few words of quiet commendation, noted the constraint upon his 
usually lively subaltern, and wisely drew his own conclusions. The 
captain had been engaged much of the morning on an investigation of 
the mysterious assault on Sergeant G wynne, and the developments had 
been such as to surround the case with additional interest, even though 
nothing tangible in the way of evidence was educed. He had purposed 
having a talk with Perry while at stables, but, after one or two search- 
ing glances at his face, Stryker concluded it best to postpone his proposed 
conference, and so allowed Perry to go on about his usual duties ; but 
he smiled in his quiet way when he noted the evident relief with which 
his subaltern heard the order “ Lead in !” that announced that grooming 


232 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


was over. It was fifteen minutes more, however, before the evening 
duties were complete ; and when at last the men went swinging home- 
ward in their white canvas frocks and Perry could return to his quarters 
to dress for his eagerly-anticipated call, the first thing that met his eyes 
as he came in sight of officers’ row was a huge, bulky, covered travel- 
ling-carriage in front of Sprague’s. Two or three ladies were there at 
the gate. Mr. Ewen, the English manager, was just mounting his 
horse ; Dr. Quin, too, was there and already in saddle ; and before 
poor Perry could get half-way across the parade, and just as the 
trumpets were sounding mess-call for supper, the bulky vehicle started ; 
the ladies waved their handkerchiefs and kissed their hands, and, es- 
corted by Ewen and the doctor, saluted by Colonel Brainard and the 
adjutant with raised forage-caps, Gladys Maitland was driven slowly 
away, — and Mrs. Belknap stood there in the little group of ladies 
smiling sweetly upon him as he hastened towards them. For many 
a long day afterwards mess-call always made him think of Mrs. Bel- 
knap’s smile, and Mrs. Belknap’s smile of mess-call. He shuddered 
at sound of one or sight of the other. 

It was Mrs. Sprague who stepped forward to greet him, her womanly 
heart filled with sympathy for the sentiment she suspected. She had 
to push by Mrs. Belknap to reach him ; but, this time, no consideration 
of etiquette stood in the way. 

“ It couldn’t be helped,” she said, in low, hurried tone, her kind 
eyes searching his, so clouded in the bitterness of his disappointment. 
“ It couldn’t be helped. The news of her accident — or something — 
brought on a seizure of some kind. Mr. Maitland was taken very ill, 
and they sent for her. The manager came, and with him her old 
nurse, Mrs. Cowan, and Dr. Quin said she could be moved without 
trouble : so she had to go. I hated to have her, too, for I’ve hardly 
had a word with her : Mrs. Belknap has been there most of the after- 
noon, even when she had a guest of her own just arrived, too.” And 
Mrs. Sprague could not but show her vexation at this retrospect. 

Perry stood in silence, looking yearningly after the retreating vehicle. 
It would take him but a few minutes to hasten to stables and saddle 
Nolan ; he could easily catch them before they had gone two miles ; 
but there was parade, and he could not ask to be excused. Not until 
he suddenly looked around and saw that Mrs. Belknap’s dark eyes 
were fixed in close scrutiny upon his face did he realize how be was 
betraying himself. Then he rallied, but with evident effort. 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


233 


The colonel was standing but a few paces away, chatting with Mrs. 
Lawrence and his faithful adjutant. Mrs. Sprague stepped quickly 
towards him and spoke a few words in a low tone, while Mrs. Belknap 
remained looking straight into Perry’s eyes. Before the young fellow 
could gather himself, Colonel Brainard, as though in reply to a sug- 
gestion of Mrs. Sprague’s, suddenly started, exclaiming, “ Why, by all 
means !” and then called aloud, — 

“ Oh ! Perry, why not gallop down and overtake the Dunraven 
carriage and say good-by ? Here’s my horse all saddled now right in 
the yard. Take him and go : I would.” 

There was something so hearty and genial and sympathetic in the 
colonel’s manner that P’erry’s face flushed despite his effort at noncha- 
lance. The thought of seeing her again and hearing her sweet voice 
was a powerful incentive. He longed to go. The colonel’s invitation 
was equivalent to an excuse from parade. There was no reason why 
he should not go. He was on the very point of thankfully accepting 
the tempting offer, when Mrs. Belknap’s words arrested him. Clear 
and cutting, but still so low that none but he could hear, she 
spoke : 

“ Take my word for it, you are not wanted, — nor any other man, — 
when Dr. Quin is with her.” 

Perry’s hesitation vanished. “ Thank you, colonel. I believe I 
don’t care to go,” he answered, and, raising his cap to the ladies, turned 
on his heel and hurried to his quarters. Mrs. Belknap stood watching 
him one moment, then calmly rejoined the party at the gate. 

“ Well,” said she, with the languid drawl that her regimental asso- 
ciates had learned to know so well, “ this has been a day of surprises, 
has it not ? Only fancy our having a beautiful English heiress here 
within reach and never knowing it until to-day !” 

“ But you had a surprise of your own, had you not ?” interposed 
Mrs. Sprague, who was still chafing over the fact that her lovely and 
dangerous neighbor should have so monopolized the guest she con- 
sidered hers by prior right, and who meant to remind her thus publicly 
of the neglect of which she had been guilty. 

“ Mrs. Page, you mean ?” responded Mrs. Belknap, with the same 
languid, imperturbable manner. “ Yes, — poor Jennie ! She is always 
utterly used up after one of those long ambulance-journeys, and can 
only take a cup of tea and go to bed in a darkened room. All she 
wants is to be let alone, she says, until she gets over it. I suppose she 

20 * 


234 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


will sleep till tattoo and then be up for half the night. You’ll all 
come in and see her, won't you ? Au revoir.” 

And so, calmly and gracefully and victoriously, the dark-eyed dame 
withdrew, leaving her honest-hearted antagonist only the sense of ex- 
asperation and defeat. 

It was full quarter of an hour after parade, and darkness was set- 
tling down on the garrison, when Captain Lawrence’s orderly tapped 
at the door of Mr. Perry’s quarters, and, being bidden “ Come in,” 
pushed on to the sitting-room, where he found that young officer 
plunged deep in an easy-chair in front of the fireplace, his attitude one 
of profound dejection. 

u Beg pardon, lieutenant,” said the man, “ but Mrs. Lawrence and 
the captain’s waitin’ dinner for you.” 


XV. 

Two days passed without event of any kind. Socially speaking, 
the garrison was enlivened by the advent of Mrs. Page, and everybody 
flocked to the Belknaps’ quarters in order to do her proper homage. 
When Perry called he asked Parke to go with him, and, when the 
latter seemed ready to leave, the former, disregarding a very palpable 
hint from the lady of the house, picked up his forage-cap and went 
likewise. For two days the one subject under constant discussion at 
the post was the event of Miss Maitland’s sudden appearance, her 
perilous run, and her daring and skilful rescue. Everybody maintained 
that Perry ought to be a very proud and happy fellow to have been the 
hero of such an occasion ; but it was very plain that Perry was neither 
proud nor anything like happy. No one had ever known him so silent 
and cast down. The talk with Lawrence had helped matters very 
little. 

In brief, this was about all the captain could tell him, and it was 
all hearsay evidence at best. The officers of the Eleventh and their 
ladies had, with a few exceptions, taken a dislike to Dr. Quin before 
Belknap and Lawrence with their companies of infantry had been 
ordered to Fort Rossiter. The feeling was in full blast when they ar- 
rived, and during the six or eight months they served there together 
the infantry people heard only one side of the story, — that of the 
Eleventh, — for the doctor never condescended to discuss the matter. 
After he was forbidden to leave the post by his commanding officer. 


I) UNRAVEN ranch. 


235 


and after the announcement of the “ blockade” of D unraven, it was 
observed that signals were sometimes made from the ranch at night : 
a strong light thrown from a reflector was flashed three times and then 
withdrawn. Next it was noted, by an enterprising member of the 
guard, that these signals were answered by a light in the doctor’s 
windows, then that he mounted his horse and rode away down the valley 
of the Monee. He was always back at sick-call ; and, if any one told 
the commanding officer of his disobedience of orders, it was not done 
until so near the departure of the Eleventh that the doctor was not 
afterwards actually caught in the act. Things would undoubtedly have 
been brought to a crisis had the Eleventh been allowed to remain. 

Now as to the story about Mrs. Quin and her going. It was 
observed during the winter that she was looking very badly, and the 
story went the rounds in the Eleventh that she was stung and suffering 
because of her husband’s conduct. Unquestionably there was some 
fair enchantress at Dunraven who lured him from his own fireside. 
She had no intimates among the ladies. She was proud and silent. It 
did not seem to occur to them that she was resentful of their dislike of 
her husband. They were sure she was “ pining” because of his neglect 
— or worse. When, therefore, without word of warning, she suddenly 
took her departure in the spring, there was a gasp of gossip-loving 
cronies in the garrison : all doubts were at an end : she had left him 
and taken her children with her. 

“ The more I think of it,” said Lawrence, “ the more I believe the 
whole thing capable of explanation. The only thing that puzzles me 
now is that Quin hides anything from your colonel, who is one of the 
most courteous and considerate men I ever served with. Perhaps he 
has told him, by this time : we don’t know. Perhaps he thought he 
might be of the same stamp as his predecessor, and was waiting to find 
out before he made his confidences. As to Mrs. Quin’s going away 
when she did, it may have been simply that her health was suffering, 
she needed change, and went with his full advice and by his wish, and 
he simply feels too much contempt for garrison gossip to explain. Very 
probably he knows nothing of the stories and theories in circulation : 
I’m sure I did not until a very few weeks ago. You know, Perry, 
there are some men in garrison who hear and know everything, and 
others who never hear a word of scandal.” 

But Perry was low in his mind. He could not forget Quin’s sudden 
appearance, — his calling her Gladys; and then he hated the thought 


236 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


that it was Quin who saw him having that confounded tender inter- 
view with Mrs. Belknap. Was there ever such a streak of ill luck as 
that? No doubt the fellow had told her ail about it ! Perry left Law- 
rence’s that night very little comforted, and only one gleam of hope 
did he receive in the two days that followed. Mrs. Sprague joyfully 
beckoned to him on Wednesday afternoon to read him a little note that 
had just come from Miss Maitland. Her father had been very ill, she 
wrote ; his condition was still critical ; but she sent a world of thanks 
to her kind entertainers at Rossiter, and these words : “ I was sorry 
not to be able to see Mr. Perry again. Do not let him think I have 
forgotten, or will be likely to forget, the service he — and Nolan — did 
me.” 

Of Dr. Quin he saw very little. With the full consent and 
knowledge of Colonel Brainard, the doctor was spending a good deal 
of time at Dunraven now, attending to Mr. Maitland. Indeed, there 
seemed to be an excellent understanding between the commandant and 
his medical officer, and it was known that they had had a long talk 
together. Upper circles in the garrison were still agitated with chat 
and conjecture about Gladys Maitland and her strange father; Perry 
was still tortured with questions about his one visit to Dunraven when- 
ever he was so incautious as to appear in public ; but all through “ the 
quarters,” everywhere among the rank and file, there was a subject that 
engrossed all thoughts and tongues, and that was discussed with feeling 
that seemed to deepen with every day, — the approaching court-martial 
of Sergeant Leary and of Trooper Kelly. 

As a result of his investigation, Captain Stryker had preferred 
charges against these two men, — the one for leading and the other for 
being accessory to the assault on his stable-sergeant. Gwynne was still 
at the hospital, though rapidly recovering from his injuries. Not a 
word had he said that would implicate or accuse any man ; but Stryker’s 
knowledge of his soldiers, and his clear insight into human motive and 
character, were such that he had readily made up his mind as to the 
facts in the case. He felt sure that Leary and some of the Celtic 
members of his company had determined to go down to Dunraven and 
“ have it out” with the hated Britons who had so affronted and abused 
them the night of Perry’s visit. They knew they could not get their 
horses by fair means, for Gwynne was above suspicion. He was 
English, too, and striving to shield his countrymen from the threatened 
vengeance. They therefore determined, in collusion with Kelly, to 


D UNRA YEN RANCH, 


237 


lure him outside the stables, bind and gag him, get their horses, having 
once rifled Gwynne of the keys, ride down to the ranch, and, after 
having a Donnybrook Fair on the premises, get back to Rossiter in 
plenty of time for reveille and stables. No sentries were posted in 
such a way as to interfere with them, and the plan was feasible enough 
but for one thing. Gwynne had made most gallant and spirited resist- 
ance, had fought the whole gang like a tiger, and they had been unable 
to overpower him before the noise had attracted the attention of the 
sergeant of the guard and some of the men in quarters. An effort, 
of course, was made to show that the assaulting party were from with- 
out, but it was futile, and Stryker’s keen cross-questioning among the 
men had convinced them that he knew all about the matter. There 
was only one conclusion, therefore, — that Gwynne must have “ given 
them away,” as the troopers expressed it. Despite the fact that he had 
been assaulted and badly beaten, this was something that few could over- 
look, and the latent jealousy against the “ cockney sergeant” blazed 
into a feeling of deep resentment. Garrison sympathy was with Leary 
and his fellows : they had simply done their best to wipe out a brutal 
insult to their officer and their regiment, and they would have succeeded, 
too, but for the interference and stubborn resistance of this bumptious 
Englishman. It arrayed all the rank and file of the — th for the de- 
fence, and there was every prospect that when the court convened — and 
they well knew it would be ordered — there would be some “ tall swear- 
ing.” 

Thursday came, and Sergeant Gwynne returned to light duty, 
though his face was still bruised and discolored and he wore a patch 
over one eye. He resumed charge of the stables in the afternoon, after 
a brief conversation with his captain, and was superintending the issue 
of forage, when Perry entered to inspect the stalls of his platoon. 
Nclan was being led out by his groom at the moment, and pricked up 
his tapering ears at sight of his master and thrust his lean muzzle to 
receive the caress of the hand he knew so well. Perry stopped him 
and carefully and critically examined his knees, feeling down to the 
fetlocks with searching fingers for the faintest symptom of knot or 
swelling in the tendons that had played their part so thoroughly in the 
drama of Monday. Satisfied, apparently, he rose and bestowed a few 
hearty pats on the glossy neck and shoulder, and then was surprised to 
find the stable-sergeant standing close beside him and regarding both 


238 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


him and the horse with an expression that arrested Perry’s attention 
at once. 

“ Feeling all right again, sergeant ?” he asked, thinking to recall 
the non-commissioned officer to his senses. 

“ Almost, sir. I’m a trifle stiff yet. Anything wrong with Nolan, 
sir ?” 

“ Nothing. I gave him rather a tough run the other day, — had to 
risk the prairie-dog holes, — and, though I felt no jar then, I’ve watched 
carefully ever since to see that he was not wrenched. I wish you would 
keep an eye on him too, will you ?” 

There was no answer. Perry had been looking over Nolan’s 
haunches as he spoke, and once more turned to the sergeant. To his 
astonishment, Gwynne’s lips were twitching and quivering, his hands, 
ordinarily held in the rigid pose of the English service, — extended 
along the thigh, — were clinching and working nervously, and some- 
thing suspiciously like a tear was creeping out from under the patch. 
Before Perry could recover from his surprise, the sergeant suddenly 
• regained his self-control, hastily raised his hand in salute, saying some- 
thing half articulate in reply, and turned sharply away, leaving his 
lieutenant gazing after him in much perplexity. 

That night, just after tattoo roll-call, when a little group of officers 
was gathered at the colonel’s gate, they were suddenly joined by Dr. 
Quin, who came from the direction of the stable where he kept his 
horse in rear of his own quarters. Colonel Brainard greeted him 
warmly and inquired after his patient at Dunraven. Every one noted 
how grave and subdued was the tone in which the doctor answered, — 

“ He is a very sick man, colonel, and it is hard to say what will be 
the result of this seizure.” 

“ You may want to go down again, doctor, if that be the case, — 
before sick-call to-morrow, I mean ; and you had better take one of 
my horses. I’ll tell my man to have one in readiness.” 

“ You are very kind, sir. I think old Brian will do all the work 
needed. But I would like to go down at reveille, as we have no men 
in hospital at all now. And, by the way, is Mr. Perry here ?” 

“ I am here,” answered Perry, coldly. He was leaning against the 
railing, rather away from the group, listening intently, yet unwilling 
to meet or hold conversation with the man he conceived to be so inim- 
ical to his every hope and interest. 

“ Mr. Perry,” said the doctor, pleasantly, and utterly ignoring tha 


D JJNRA VEN RANCH. 


239 


coldness of the young fellow’s manner, “ Mr. Maitland has asked to see 
you ; and it would gratify him if you would ride down in the morning.” 

Even in the darkness Perry feared that all would see the flush that 
leaped to his face. Summoned to Dunraven Ranch, by her father, with 
a possibility of seeing her! It was almost too sweet! too thrilling! 
He could give no reply for a moment, and an awkward silence fell on 
the group until he chokingly answered, “ I shall be glad to go. What 
time ?” 

“ Better ride down early. Never mind breakfast. Miss Maitland 
will be glad to give you a cup of coffee, I fancy.” 

And Perry felt as though the fence had taken to waltzing. He 
made no answer, striving to regain his composure, and then the talk 
went on. It was Stryker who was speaking now : 

u Has the ring been found, doctor ?” 

“No! That is a most singular thing, and one that worries the old 
gentleman a great deal. It had a history : it belonged to Mrs. Mait- 
land’s father, who was from Ireland, — indeed, Ireland was her country, 
as it was my father’s, — and that ring she had reset for her son Archie 
and gave it to him when he entered service with the Lancers. It was 
sent home with his watch and other property from South Africa, — for 
he died there, — and old Maitland always wore it afterwards. Archie 
was the last of three sons ; and it broke his heart.” 

“ And the ring was lost the night of Perry’s adventure there?” 
asked the colonel. 

“ Yes. Mr. Perry remembers having seen it on his hand when the 
old gentleman first came down to receive him. It was missed after- 
wards, and could easily have slipped off at any time, for his fingers 
were withered with age and ill health. They have searched everywhere, 
and could find nothing of it. It could easily have rolled off the 
veranda on to the grass during his excitement at the time of the row, 
and somebody may have picked it up,— either among the ranchmen or 
among the troopers.” 

“I hate to think that any of our men would take it,” said the 
colonel, after a pause. 

“ I do not think any of them would, with the idea of selling it,” 
said Stryker ; “ but here is a case where it was picked up, possibly, as 
one of the spoils of war. I have had inquiry made throughout the 
troop, but with no result so far. Do you go down again to-night, 
doctor ?” 


240 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


“ Not if I can avoid it. I am going now to try and sleep, and will 
not ride down till daybreak unless signalled for. Good-night, colonel ; 
good-night, all.” 

Unless signalled for ! Instinctively Perry edged closer to Lawrence, 
who had stood a silent listener to the conversation, and Lawrence turned 
and saw him and knew the thought that must be uppermost in his 
mind. Others, too, were doubtless struck by the doctor’s closing words, 
and were pondering over their full significance. There was a moment 
of* perfect silence, and then Lawrence spoke : 

“ Does anybody know what the signal is ?” 

“ Certainly,” said Colonel Brainard, promptly. “ He has explained 
the whole thing to me. Those were signals for him that we saw the 
night you were all on my gallery. It was an arrangement devised by 
their old nurse, — she who came up with the carriage for Miss Maitland 
the other day. She had a regular old-fashioned head-light and reflector, 
and, when Mr. Maitland was so ill as to need a doctor, used to notify 
Quin in that way. He sometimes failed to see it, and I have given 
orders to-day that the guard should wake him when it is seen here- 
after.” 

“ Then that was what those mysterious night lights meant that 
we have heard so much about during the last three weeks?” asked 
Mr. Dana. 

“ Certainly,” answered Brainard. “ What on earth did anybody 
suppose they meant ?” 

To this there was no response for a moment. Then Lawrence burst 
out laughing. 


XVI. 

Late that night Mr. Perry left his quarters and strolled out on the 
walk that bounded the parade. He could not sleep ; he was feverishly 
impatient for the coming of another day, that he might start forth on 
his ride to Dunraven. Few as were the words in which Dr. Quin had 
conveyed the message of invitation, they were sufficient to set his heart 
athrob and his pulses bounding with eagerness and delight. Then, too, 
the annihilation of one portion, at least, of the “ mystery” that sur- 
rounded the doctor’s night visits to Dunraven, the utterly matter-of- 
fact way in which the colonel had shattered that story by his announce- 
ment, and the kind and friendly tone in which the doctor had spoken 
to him, all had served to bring about a revulsion of feeling and to 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 


241 


remove a great portion of the weight of suspicion and dread with which 
he had been burdened. He and Lawrence had walked home together, 
the captain ever and anon bursting into renewed peals of laughter over 
the utterly absurd denouement so recently presented to their view. The 
colonel and the officers with him had, of course, asked the cause of his 
sudden and apparently unaccountable merriment, and, when he could 
sufficiently control himself, Lawrence had begged the indulgence of his 
post commander, saying it involved a long story, — a garrison yarn, in 
fact, — and one he could hardly retail just then ; but, said he, “ it re- 
minds me of something we studied in our school-boy days , — ‘ parturiunt 
montes,’ and ‘nascitur ridiculus mus.’ Of course I’ll feel bound to tell 
you the facts, colonel, but I want to ask a question or two first. The 
story is a relic of your predecessor’s, sir, and, if I haven’t got a big 
joke on the Eleventh, may I be transferred to them forthwith.” And 
the captain’s laughter broke forth again. 

But he was in more serious mood when he reached his gate and 
turned to say good-night to Perry : 

“ It all goes to show what infernal gossip can spring up out of next 
to nothing, Perry, and I hope you’ll try and forget that Mrs. Lawrence’s 
curiosity or womanly weakness got the better of her that night at the 
colonel’s. It will be a lesson to her, — if people ever do profit by lessons 
in such matters,” he added, with rather a rueful smile. 

And then, though he had gone home with lighter heart and ashamed 
of his jealous suspicions, Perry could not sleep. There were still some 
things in Quin’s relations with the Maitlands that required explanation 
and that gave him cause for painful reflection. The morrow might un- 
ravel it all and give him glad relief from every dread ; but would the 
morrow never come ? 

He heard the sentries at the storehouses calling half-past eleven, 
and, throwing aside his pipe, he impulsively hurried out into the open 
air. A “ spin” around the parade or out on the starlit prairie might 
soothe his nerves and enable him to sleep. 

All lights were out in the quadrangle, save those at the guard-house. 
Even at Belknap’s quarters, where the veranda had been thronged with 
officers and ladies only an hour before, all was now silence and dark- 
ness. Unwilling to attract attention by tramping up and down on the 
board walk, he crossed the road and went out on the broad level of the 
parade, but took care so to direct his steps as not to come within hailing- 
distance of the guard-house. It would be awkward work explaining the 
L 21 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


2 42 

situation to the sergeant of the guard in case the sentry were to see or 
hear and challenge him. Then, too, Graham was officer of the guard, 
and Graham would be sure to chaff him mercilessly at the mess-table 
about this entirely new trait of night-prowling. Giving heed to all 
this, he edged well over to his left as he walked, and so it happened 
that he found himself, after a while, opposite the northeast entrance to 
the post, and close to the road on which stood the commissary and 
quartermaster storehouses. There was a sentry posted here, too, and it 
would not do to be challenged by him, any more than by u Number 
One.” 

Stopping a moment to listen for the sentry’s foot-fall, Perry’s ear 
was attracted by the sound of a door slowly and cautiously opened. It 
was some little time before he could tell from which one of the neighbor- 
ing buildings, looming there in the darkness, the sound proceeded. Then 
he heard muffled footsteps and a whispered consultation not far away, 
and, hurrying on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, he presently 
caught sight of two or three dim, shadowy forms moving noiselessly 
along the porch of the company quarters nearest him. Stryker’s troop 
--that to which he belonged — was quartered down beyond the guard- 
house on the lower side of the parade ; these forms were issuing from 
the barracks of Captain Wayne’s troop, and before Perry could realize 
the fact that they were out, either in moccasins or their stocking-feet, 
and presumably, therefore, on some unlawful enterprise, they had dis- 
appeared around the corner of the building. He walked rapidly thither, 
turned the corner, and they were nowhere in sight or hearing. Stop- 
ping to listen did not help matters at all. He could not hear a sound ; 
and as for the shadows of which he was in pursuit, it was simply im- 
possible to tell which direction they had taken. They had vanished 
from the face of the earth, and were lost in the deeper gloom that hung 
about the scattered array of wooden buildings — storehouses, fuel-sheds, 
and cook-sheds — at the rear of the post. 

Had it been his own troop he could have roused the first sergeant 
and ordered a “ check” roll-call as a means of determining at once who 
the night-prowlers might be ; but Captain Wayne had his peculiarities, 
and one of them was an unalterable and deeply-rooted objection to any 
interference on the part of other officers in the management of his men. 
Perry’s first thought, too, was of the stables and Sergeant Gwynne. 
Were they meditating another foray, and had the feeling spread outside 
their own company ? No time was to be lost. He turned his face east- 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


243 


ward to where the dark outlines of the stables could be dimly traced 
against the sky, and hastened, stumbling at times over stray tin cans 
and other discarded rubbish, until he crossed the intervening swale and 
reached the low bluff along which the crude, unpainted structures were 
ranged. All was darkness here towards the northern end, and the one 
sentry who had external charge of the entire line was slowly pacing his 
post : Perry could see his form, dimly outlined, as he breasted the slope, 
and it determined him to keep on in the hollow until he got to a point 
opposite the stables of his own troop. If there was to be any devil- 
ment it might be well to see whether this soldier, too, would turn out 
to be in league with the conspirators. Listening intently as he hurried 
along, but hearing nothing, Perry soon found himself at the pathway 
leading to his own domain, and the next minute was gazing in surprise 
at a light burning dimly in the window of the little room occupied by 
Sergeant Gwynne : there was not a glimmer elsewhere along the line. 

Striding up to the window, he tapped lightly, and G Wynne’s voice 
sternly challenged from within, “ Who’s there ?” 

“ Lieutenant Perry, sergeant. Come around and open the stable 
door for me.” 

“One moment, sir,” was the answer, and he heard the sergeant 
bounding, apparently, off his bed. Then a hand drew aside the shade, 
and Gwynne’s face appeared at the window, while a small lantern was 
held so as to throw its rays on the face without. “ All right, sir,” he 
continued. “ I thought I could not be deceived in the voice.” 

Perry walked around to the front again, taking another survey of 
the sleeping garrison as he did so, and listening once more for footsteps ; 
but all was still. Presently the little panel in the big door was un- 
locked from within, and the lieutenant bent low and entered, finding 
Gwynne, lantern in hand, standing in his uncompromising attitude of 
“ attention” at the entrance. 

“ Everything been quiet here to-night ?” he asked, as he straightened 
up. 

“ Perfectly so, sir.” 

“ Come into your room a moment ; I want to speak to you,” said 
Perry, after a moment’s reflection. 

They passed along the broad gangway between the rows of sleepy 
horses, some lying down in their stalls, others still afoot and munching 
at their hay. The stable-guard stood at his post and faced them as 
they turned into the dark and narrow passage leading into Gwynne’s 


244 


DUNRAVEN RANCH . 


little sanctuary. The lamps along the line of stalls burned low and 
dim, and, the ports being lowered, gave no gleam without the walls. 
Once more, however, a bright light shone from the window of the 
stable-sergeant’s room, — brighter than before, could they only know it, 
for this time there was no intervening shade. After his brief inspection 
of the lieutenant’s face, Gwynne had left it drawn. 

The sergeant set his lantern on a wooden desk, and respectfully 
waited for his superior to speak. Perry looked him well over a moment, 
and then began : 

“ Did you tell Captain Stryker the particulars of your rough treat- 
ment down there at the ranch ?” 

“ The rough treatment, — yes, sir.” 

“ Would you mind telling me where vou were taken? — where you 
saw Dr. Quin?” 

The sergeant hesitated one moment, a troubled look on his face. 
His one available eye studied his lieutenant’s features attentively. 
Something in the frank, kind blue eyes — possibly some sudden recol- 
lection, too — seemed to reassure him. 

“ It was to Mr. Cowan’s little house, sir. He interposed to save 
me from a worse beating at the hands of three brutes who were em- 
ployed there and had some grudge against this garrison of which I was 
ignorant. They attacked me without a word of warning. It was he, 
too, who called in Dr. Quin.” 

“ Have you — did you see any of the people at Dunraven besides 
this young man ?” 

“ I saw his mother, sir. She is a nurse there, and has been in the 
frurily for years, I am told.” 

Perry was silent a moment. Then he spoke again : 

“ Have you heard any further threats among the men here since the 
a T rest of Sergeant Leary ?” 

Gwynne hesitated, coloring painfully : 

“ It is something I hate to speak of, sir. The talk has not alarmed 
me in the least.” 

“ I know that, sergeant. All the same we want to prevent a recur- 
rence of that performance ; and it was that, mainly, that brought me 
over here. I saw some men stealing out of M Troop’s quarters awhile 
ago, and lost them in the darkness. I thought they might l>e coming 
over here, and— -got here first.” 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


245 


G Wynne’s face lighted up. It touched him to know his officers 
were on the lookout for his safety. 

“ I have heard nothing, sir. The men would hardly be apt to 
speak to me on the subject, since the affair of the other night. What 
I fear is simply this, — that there is an element here in the regiment 
that is determined to get down there to the ranch and have satisfaction 
for the assault that was made on you and your party. They need 
horses in order to get there and back between midnight and reveille, 
and are doubtless hatching some plan. They failed here ; now they 
may try the stables of some other troop, or the quartermaster’s. Shall 
I warn the sentry that there are prowlers out to-night ?” 

“ Not yet. They will hardly make the attempt while your light is 
burning here. What I’m concerned about just now is this : we all 
know that there is deep sympathy for Leary in the command, and it is 
not improbable that among the Irishmen there is corresponding feeling 
against you. I don’t like your being here alone just now ; for they 
know you are almost the only witness against him.” 

“ I have thought of that, sir,” answered Gwynne, gravely, “ but I 
want nothing that looks like protection. The captain has spoken of 
the matter to me, and he agreed, sir, that it would do more harm than 
good. There is one thing I would ask, — if I may trouble the lieu- 
tenant.” 

“ What is it, sergeant ?” 

“ I have a little packet, containing some papers and a trinket or 
two, that I would like very much to have kept safely, and, if anything 
should happen to me, to have you, sir, and Captain Stryker open it, 
and — the letters there will explain everything that is to be done.” 

u Certainly. I will take care of it for you, — if not too valuable.” 

“ I would rather know it was with you, sir, than stow it in the 
quartermaster’s safe,” was Gwynne’s answer, as he opened a little wooden 
chest at the foot of his bunk, and, after rummaging a moment, drew 
forth a parcel tied and sealed.. This he handed to the lieutenant. 

“ Now I will go back and notify the officer of the guard of what I 
have seen,” said Perry; “and I want Nolan, saddled, over at my 
quarters right after morning stables. Will you see to it ?” 

“ I will, eir, and thank you for your kindness.” 

All was darkness, all silence and peace, as Perry retraced his steps 
and went back to the garrison, carrying the little packet in his hand. 

21 * 


246 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


He went direct to the guard-house, and found Mr. Graham sulky over 
being disturbed in his snooze by the sentry’s challenge. 

“ What the devil are you owling around this time of night for ?” 
was the not unnatural question. “ I thought it was the officer of the 
day, and nearly broke my neck in hurrying out here.” 

But Perry’s brief recital of the fact that he had seen some men 
stealing out of the quarters of M Troop in their stocking-feet or moc- 
casins put an end to Graham’s complaints. Hastily summoning the 
sergeant of the guard, he started out to make the rounds of his sentries, 
while Perry carried his packet home, locked it in his desk, and then 
returned to the veranda to await developments. 

Sergeant Gwynne, meantime, having lighted his young officer to 
the stable door, stood there a few moments, looking over the silent 
garrison and listening to the retreating footsteps. The sentry came 
pacing along the front of the stables, and brought his carbine down 
from the shoulder as he dimly sighted the tall figure, but, recognizing 
the stable-sergeant as he came nearer, the ready challenge died on his 
lips. 

“ I thought I heard somebody moving around down here, sergeant. 
It was you, then, was it ?” 

“ I have been moving around, — inside, — but made no noise. Have 
you heard footsteps or voices ?” 

“ Both, I thought ; but it’s as black as your hat on this beat to-night. 
I can’t see my hand afore my face.” 

“ Keep your ears open, then : there are men out from one of the 
quarters, at least, and no telling what they are up to. Who’s in charge 
at the quartermaster’s stables ?” 

“ Sergeant Riley, of the infantry; some of the fellers were over 
having a little game with him before tattoo, and I heard him tell ’em 
to come again when they had more money to lose. He and his helper 
there were laughing at the way they cleaned out the cavalry when they 
were locking up at taps. The boys fetched over a bottle of whiskey 
with ’em.” 

“ Who were they ?” 

“ Oh, there was Flanagan and Murphy, of M Troop, and Corporal 
Donovan, and one or two others. They hadn’t been drinkin’.” 

“ But Riley had, — do you mean ?” 

“ He was a little full ; not much.” 

* Well, look alive now, Wicks. It’s my advice to you that you 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


247 


watch that end of your post with all your eyes.” And with this Ser- 
geant Gwynne turned back into the stable, picked up his lantern, and 
returned to the little room in which he slept. A current of cool night- 
air, blowing in through the open casement, attracted his attention. 
Odd ! He knew he had pulled aside the shade to scan the features of 
the lieutenant when he tapped at the pane, but he could not recall 
having opened the sash. It swung on a' hinge, and was fastened by a 
lonsely-fitting bolt. Perhaps the rising wind had blown it in. He 
set his lamp down as before, closed the sash, and then closed and locked 
the hd of his chest. That, too, was open. Wicks, the sentry, well up 
to the noith end of his post and close to the entrance of the quarter- 
masters corral, was bawling, “ Half-past twelve o’clock, and a-all’s 
well,” when the light went out in Gwynne’s little room, and all the 
line of stables was wrapped in darkness. 

Perry fretted around the veranda until one o’clock, then sought his 
room. He was still too excited to sleep, and it seemed an interminable 
time before he dozed off. Then it seemed as though he could not have 
been in dream-land five minutes before a hand was laid upon his shoulder, 
shaking him vigorously, and a voice he well knew was exclaiming, in 
low but forcible tones, — 

“ Wake, lieutenant, wake ! Every horse is gone from the quarter- 
master’s corral. There must be twenty men gone down the valley. 
I’ve Nolan here for you at the gate.” 

In ten minutes Lieutenant Perry and Sergeant Gwynne were riding 
neck and neck out over the eastern prairie, — out towards the paling 
orient stars and the faintly-gleaming sky, — before them, several miles 
away, the dark and threatened walls of Dunraven, behind them the stir 
and excitement and bustle consequent upon a night alarm. The colonel, 
roused by Perry with the news, had ordered the instant sounding of 
the assembly, and the garrison was tumbling out for roll-call. 

XVII. 

At the head of a score of his own men, Captain Stryker rode forth 
some fifteen minutes later. His orders from Colonel Brainard were to 
go to Dunraven, and, if he found the marauders there, to arrest the 
entire party and bring them back to the post. From all that could be 
learned from hurried questioning of the sentries and the dazed, half- 
drunken sergeant at the corral, the troopers engaged in the raid must 


248 


BVNRAVEN RANCH. 


have selected a time when the sentry was walking towards the south end 
of his post to lift one of their number over the wall of the enclosure 
in which were kept the wagons and ambulances. This man had un- 
barred from within the gate leading eastward to the trail down which 
the “ stock” was driven daily to water in the Monee. Riley admitted 
that “ the boys” had left a bottle with him which he and his assistant 
had emptied before turning in, and so it happened that, unheard and 
unseen, the raiders had managed to slip out with the dozen horses that 
were kept there and had also taken six mules as “ mounts” for those 
who could not find anything better. Eighteen men, apparently, were 
in the party, and the sentry on Number Three heard hoof-beats down 
towards the valley about half-past two o’clock, but thought it was only 
some of the ponies belonging to the Cheyenne scouts. There was one 
comfort, — the men had taken no fire-arms with them ; for a hurried in- 
spection of the company quarters showed that the carbines were all in 
their racks and the revolvers in their cases. Some of the men might 
have small-calibre pistols of their own, but the government arms had 
not been disturbed. Half the party, at least, must have ridden bare- 
back and with only watering-bridles for their steeds. They were in- 
deed “ spoiling for a fight,” and the result of the roll-call showed that 
the missing troopers were all Irishmen and some of the best and most 
popular men in the command. Whatever their plan, thought Stryker, 
as he trotted down to the Monee, it was probably carried out by this 
time : it was now within a minute of four o’clock. 

Only a mile out he was overtaken by Dr. Quin, who reined up an 
instant to ask if any one had been sent ahead. “ Thank God for that !” 
he exclaimed, when told that Perry and Sergeant Gwynne had gone at 
the first alarm ; then, striking spurs to his horse, pushed on at ranid 
gallop, while the troopers maintained their steady trot. A mile from 
Dunraven, in the dim light of early morning the captain’s keen eyes 
caught sight of shadowy forms of mounted men on the opposite shore, 
and, despite their efforts to escape on their wearied steeds, three of them 
were speedily run down and captured. One of them was Corporal 
Donovan, and Donovan’s face was white and his manner agitated. 
Bidding him ride alongside as they pushed ahead towards the ranch, 
Stryker questioned him as to what had taken place, and the corporal 
never sought to equivocate : 

“ We’ve been trying for several nights, sir, to get horses and go 
down and have it out with those blackguards at the ranch. We took 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


249 


no arms, sir, even those of us who had pistols of our own. All we 
asked was a fair fight, man against man. They wouldn’t come out 
of their hole, — they dasn’t do it, sir, — and then they fired on us. We'd 
have burned the roof over their heads, but that Lieutenant Perry gal- 
loped in and stopped us. I came away then, sir, and so did most of us. 
We knew ’twas all up when we saw the lieutenant ; but there was more 
firing after I left. This way, captain. Out across the prairie here. W e 
cut down the fence on this side.” And, so saying, Donovan led the 
little troop to a broad gap in the wire barrier, and thence straight across 
the fields to where lights were seen flitting about in the dark shadows 
of the buildings of the ranch. Another moment, and Stryker had dis- 
mounted and was kneeling beside the prostrate and unconscious form 
of his lieutenant. Some misguided ranchman, mistaking for a new 
assailant the tall young soldier who galloped into the midst of the 
swarm of taunting Irishmen, had fired the cruel shot. There lay 
Nolan dead upon the sward, and here, close at hand, his grief-stricken 
master had finally swooned from loss of blood, the bullet having 
pierced his leg below the knee. Beside him knelt the doctor : he had 
cut away the natty riding-boot, and was rapidly binding up the wound. 
Close at hand stood Gwynne, a world of anxiety and trouble in his 
bruised and still discolored face. Grouped around were some of the 
assailing party, crestfallen and dismayed at the unlooked-for result of 
their foray, but ashamed to attempt to ride away, now that their 
favorite young officer was sore stricken as a result of their mad folly. 
Mr. Ewen, too, had come out, and was bustling about, giving directions 
to the one or two of his hands who had ventured forth from the office 
building. The big frame house under whose walls the group was 
gathered was evidently used as a dormitory for a number of men, and 
this had been the objective point of the attack, but not a soul had 
issued from its portals : the occupants were the men who made the 
assault on Perry the night of his first visit, and now they deemed it 
best to keep within. Everything indicated that Perry had got to the 
scene just in time to prevent a bloody and desperate fracas, for the few 
ranch-people who appeared were still quivering with excitement and 
dread. Ewen was almost too much agitated to speak : 

“ Go to Mr. Maitland as soon as you can, doctor : this has given 
him a fearful shaking up. Mrs. Cowan is having a room made ready 
for Mr. Perry. Ah ! here’s young Cowan now. — Beady ?” he asked. 

“ All ready. Mother says carry the gentleman right in. — She wants 
L» 


250 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


you to come too,” he added, in lower tone, to Sergeant Gwynne, but 
the latter made no reply. 

And so, borne in the arms of several of his men, Lieutenant Perry 
was carried across the intervening space and into the main building. 
When he recovered consciousness, as the morning light came through 
the eastern windows, he found himself lying in a white-curtained bed 
in a strange room, with a strange yet kind and motherly face bending 
over him, and his captain smiling down into his wondering eyes. 

“ You are coming round all right, old fellow,” he heard Stryker 
say. “ I’ll call the doctor now : he wanted to see you as soon as you 
waked.” 

And then Quin came in and said a few cheery words and bade him 
lie still and worry about nothing. The row was over, thanks to him, 
and he and poor Nolan were the only victims ; but it had been a great 
shock to Mr. Maitland and rendered his condition critical. 

Perry listened in silence, asking no questions. For the time being 
he could think of nothing but Nolan’s loss. It was such a cruel fate to 
be killed by those he came to save. 

All that day he lay there, dozing and thinking alternately. He 
wondered at the tenderness and devotion with which the kind old 
Englishwoman nursed him and seemed to anticipate his every want. 
Quin came in towards evening and dressed his wound, which now began 
to be feverish and painful. He heard his colonel’s voice in the hall- 
way, too, and heard him say to the doctor that somebody at Rossi ter 
was eager to come down and take care of him. “ Bosh !” said the 
blunt surgeon ; “ I’ve a far better nurse here, — and a reserve to fall 
back upon that will be worth a new life to him.” And, weak and 
feverish though he was, Perry’s heart thrilled within him : he wondered 
if it could mean Gladys. Two days more he lay there, the fever skil- 
fully controlled by the doctor’s ministrations, and the pain of his wound 
subdued by Mrs. Cowan’s cooling bandages and applications. But 
there was a burning fever in his heart that utterly refused to down. 
He strained his ears listening for the sound of her voice or the pit-a-pat 
of her foot-fall in the corridor. At last he mustered courage and asked 
for her, and Mrs. Cowan smiled : 

“ Miss Maitland has been here three times to inquire how you 
were ; but it was while you were sleeping, Mr. Perry, and she rarely 
leaves her father’s bedside. He is very ill, and seems to be growing 
weaker every day. I don’t know what wt would have done if we had 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


251 


not found Dr. Quin here : he has pulled him through two or three 
bad seizures during the past year.” 

“ Where had you known the doctor before ?” asked Perry, with an 
eager light in his eyes. 

“ Nowhere ; but it was as though one of his own kith and kin had 
suddenly appeared here to welcome Mr. Maitland. The doctor is a first- 
cousin of Mrs. Maitland’s : she was from Ireland, and it was from her 
family that the ranch was named. Lord Dunraven is of the peerage of 
Ireland, you know,” added Mrs. Cowan, with the cheerful confidence 
of the Englishwoman that every person of any education or standing 
must be familiar with the pages of Debrett. 

“How should I know anything about it?” laughed Perry. He 
felt in merry mood ; another page in his volume of suspicion and dread 
was being torn away, and Quin’s relations with the household were 
turning out to be such as made him an object of lively interest, not 
of jealous doubt. 

Then came callers from the garrison. It seemed as though all 
of a sudden the blockade had been raised and that no people were 
so warmly welcomed at Dunraven as the very ones who had been 
especially proscribed. Mr. Maitland, weak and ill as he was, had 
asked to be allowed to see Colonel Brainard on the occasion of that 
officer’s second visit ; Stryker, Dana, Graham, and Parke had all been 
allowed to come up and see Perry a few moments, but Mrs. Cowan 
was vigilant and remorseless, would allow them only a brief inter- 
view, and, with smiling determination, checked her patient when he 
attempted to talk. The third day of his imprisonment Dr. Quin came 
scowling in along in the afternoon, manifestly annoyed about something, 
and said a few words in a low tone to Mrs. Cowan, and that usually 
equable matron fluttered away down-stairs in evident excitement. 

“ It’s Mrs. Belknap,” explained the doctor, in answer to Perry’s 
inquiring look. “ She has ridden down here with Dana and sent her 
card up to Gladys, — who can’t bear the sight of her ; I don’t know 
why ; intuition, I suppose.” 

Presently Mrs. Cowan reappeared : “ Miss Gladys has asked to b« 
excused, as she does not wish to leave her father at this moment ; and 
the lady would like to come up and see Mr. Perry.” 

“ Tell her no /” said Quin, savagely. “ No, — here : I’ll go my- 
self.” And down went the doughty medical officer, and straightway 
the rumbling tones of his harsh voice were heard below : the words 


252 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


were indistinguishable, but Mrs. Cowan’s face indicated that there was 
something in the sound that gave her comfort. She stood at the 
window watching the pair as they rode away. 

“ Miss Gladys shuddered when she had to shake hands with her 
that day when we came away from Mrs. Sprague’s,” said she. “ I hope 
that lady is not a particular friend of yours, Mr. Perry ?” 

“ We have been very good friends indeed,” said he, loyally. “ To 
be sure, I have hardly known Mrs. Belknap a month, but; both she 
and the captain have been very kind to me.” All the same, down in 
the bottom of his heart he did not wonder at Miss Maitland’s sensa- 
tions. He was beginning to despair of ever seeing her, and yet could 
get no explanation that satisfied him. 

“ You know she can walk only with great pain and difficulty even 
now,” said Mrs. Cowan. “ Her ankle was very badly wrenched, and she 
hardly goes farther than from her own to her father’s room. You ought 
to feel complimented that she has been here to your door three times.” 

“ I feel more like butting my brains out for being asleep,” muttered 
Perry in reply. “ I wish you would wake me next time, Mrs. Cowan. 
I shan’t believe it until I see it, or hear her voice at the door.” 

She had excused herself to Mrs. Belknap, and the doctor had denied 
that lovely woman her request to be allowed to come up and see Mr. 
Perry ; and yet, the very next day, when the big four-mule ambulance 
from Bossiter came driving up to the front door, and Mrs. Sprague and 
Mrs. Lawrence, escorted by the colonel and Captain Stryker, appeared 
on the veranda, how did it happen that the ladies were speedily ushered 
up-stairs to Miss Maitland’s own room, and that, after an animated 
though low-toned chat of half an hour with her, they were marshalled 
down the long corridor by Mrs. Cowan in person, and, to Perry’s huge 
delight, were shown in to his bedside ? It looked as though Quin were 
showing unwarrantable discrimination. Stryker and the colonel, too, 
came in to see him, and the latter told him that both Mr. Maitland and 
Mr. Ewen had begged that the arrested soldiers might not be punished. 
Including Sergeant Leary and Kelly, there were now twenty men under 
charges more or less grave in their character, and he had asked that a 
general court-martial be convened for their trial. The colonel deeply 
appreciated the feeling displayed by the stricken proprietor and his 
overseer ; he was touched that even in his extreme illness and prostra- 
tion Mr. Maitland should intercede for the men who had made so hos- 
tile an invasion of his premises and brought upon the inmates of Dun- 


D UN RAVEN RANCH . 


253 


raven a night of dread and anxiety ; but discipline had to be maintained, 
he replied, and the ringleaders in the move had been guilty of a flagrant 
breach which could not be overlooked. 

But on the following day — the fourth of Perry’s stay — the doctor 
came down with a face full of gloom and distress. Both nurse and 
patient noted it, and inquired the cause. For a time Quin avoided any 
direct reply : il something had ruffled him up at the post,” he answered : 
“ can’t tell you about it now. I’ll do it by and by. I want to think.” 
He examined Perry’s leg, dressed and rebandaged the wound, and then 
went back to Mr. Maitland’s room. They could hear his voice in the 
hall after a while, and Perry’s heart began to throb heavily : he was 
sure the low, sweet tones, almost inaudible, that came floating along 
the corridor, were those of Gladys. When Mrs. Cowan spoke to him 
on some ordinary topic, he impatiently bade her hush, — he could not 
bear to be disturbed, — and, far from being hurt at his petulance, Mrs. 
Cowan smiled softly as she turned away. 

Then Quin came back, and, after fidgeting around a moment, ab- 
ruptly addressed his patient : 

“ Perry, do you remember that morning you rode down here right 
after reveille and met me on the trail, — or at least would have met me 
if I hadn’t dodged and gone over to the other side of the valley ?” 

“ Certainly I do, doctor.” 

“ I may as well explain that singular performance first. You may 
have heard that I didn’t get along amicably with your predecessors of 
the Eleventh. Their colonel was ass enough to totally misconstrue the 
purpose of my visits here, and I was ass enough to make no explana- 
tion. The Maitlands went away; I was not called for again while 
the Eleventh remained ; and therefore I said no more about it. Mr. 
Maitland returned unexpectedly soon after you came, and the first I 
knew of it was the signal-lights telling me he was there, ill, and that 
I was wanted. It was the night of the colonel’s dinner-party. I 
couldn’t explain then, and decided to go at once and explain afterwards. 
When I met you all of a sudden the next morning, the first impulse was 
to get away out of your sight, and I obeyed it simply because of the 
unpleasant experiences I had been having with your fellow-cavalrymen. 
I did not want to have to answer questions. See ? I was ashamed of 
it, but too late to turn back.” 

Perry nodded. “ I understand it — now,” he said. 

22 


254 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


“ Well, what I want to ask is about Sergeant G wynne. Did you 
meet him before you got back ?” 

“ Yes, — a mile or so out from the post.” 

“ You stopped and talked with him, didn’t you?” 

“ Yes, — for several minutes.” 

Mrs. Cowan’s needle- work had fallen in her lap. She was seated 
near the window, and had been busily sewing. Now she was looking 
up, eager and intent. 

“ You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you ?” 

“Yes, — ever since he joined. He’s one of the best sergeants I 
ever knew.” 

“You would hardly think him guilty of any dishonesty, would 
you ?” 

Mrs. Cowan was rising from her chair ; the needle- work had fallen 
to the floor. 

“ Dishonesty ! Not by a — good deal !” was the reply that bade 
fair to be even more impulsive, and was checked only in deference to 
the presence of a woman. 

“ Well, neither would I, from what I’ve seen of him ; and yet Mr. 
Maitland’s seal ring was found on him last night.” 

“ My God ! Of course he could explain it in some way ?” 

“ He couldn’t, — or wouldn’t. He simply stood there, white as a 
sheet except where those bruises made him green and blue. He had 
denied the charge flatly when accused ; and yet there it was in his chest. 
I never saw any man so taken aback as Captain Stryker : he said he 
would have sworn to his innocence.” 

“ So would I ! — so I do, by Jupiter ! It’s some foul plot i — 
it’s ” 

But he got no further. To his own amaze, to the utter bewilder- 
ment of Dr. Quin, Mrs. Cowan precipitated herself upon her patient, 
seized the hand that lay nearest her on the coverlet, and burst forth 
into half-articulate, sobbing, indignant words, mingled with kisses 
showered passionately on that astonished hand. 

“ Oh, bless him for the words ! Oh, God bless you, Mr. Perry ! 
. . . Oh, the fook ! the lunatics ! . . . A thief, indeed ! . . . The idea 
of his being accused ! . . . Oh, God ! what would his mother in heaven 
say to this ? ... As though he had not borne far too much already ! 
. . . It’s his own — his own ring, I tell you ! Who else should wear it ? 
. . . Who dare take it from him now ? . . . Oh, the infamy of it all 1” 


DUNBAVEN RANCH. 


255 


In her wild excitement, in her incoherent praise and lamentation 
and wrath and indignation, her voice, her sobs, rang through the room 
and out along the broad corridor. Even in their amaze the two men 
heard a hurried step approaching, a limping, halting, painful step, yet 
rapid and impulsive. Quin, absorbed in his contemplation of the ex- 
cited woman, paid no attention ; Perry’s eager eyes were strained upon 
the door-way, where, the very next instant, with pallid features and 
startled mien, Gladys Maitland suddenly appeared and stood staring in 
upon the spectacle of Mrs. Cowan kissing and sobbing over Perry’s 
hand. Already he had divined the truth, and strove to warn the tear- 
blinded woman of her presence; but Mrs. Cowan’s excitement had 
increased to the verge of hysteria : she was laughing and crying now by 
turns, blessing her soldier patient for his faith in the accused sergeant, 
and then breaking forth anew in indignant expletive, “ Who are his 
accusers ? Who dare say thief to him ? ... Not one is fit to look 
him in the face ! ’Twas the very ring his mother gave him, ... his 
own ! his own !” 

And then the doctor seized her and turned her so that she must see 
Gladys, — Gladys, wild-eyed, panting, staring, tottering forward from 
the door- way. One sharp cry from the woman’s lips, one spring towards 
the reeling form, and she had caught the girl in her arms : 

" Gladys, Gladys, my little pet ! my own baby girl ! Look up and 
thank God ! I’ve tried to keep my promise and his secret until he 
released me. I’ve tried hard, but it’s all useless : I can’t, I can’t. Oh, 
Gladys, sweetheart, your mother’s smiling down on us this day. Who 
do you think has come back to us, safe and strong and well and brave ? 
Who but your own brother, your own Archie, Gladys ?” 

XVIII. 

“ Yes, certainly very pretty, — now. It’s such a pity that English 
women grow coarse and stout and red-faced so very soon after they 
are married.” The speaker was Mrs. Belknap, and her soft voice was 
tuned to a pitch of almost pathetic regret. They were talking of Miss 
Maitland, who had just been assisted to her saddle by the colonel, and 
now, followed by the faithful Griggs and escorted by Captain Stryker, 
was riding away homeward after a brief call at the post. Fort Rossiter, 
once so humdrum and placid and “ stupid,” as the ladies termed it, had 
been the vortex of sensations for a whole fortnight, and one excitement 


256 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


had trodden on the heels of another with such rapidity that people were 
growing weary. 

Perhaps the happiest man in garrison was Captain Stryker : he had 
1 refused to believe in the guilt of Sergeant Gwynne when Captain Wayne 
came to him to say that there were men in his troop who openly accused 
the sergeant of having that cherished seal-ring secreted in his chest. 
So confident was he that he had gone with the captain and Mr. Farn- 
ham to the stables and there told Gwynne of the charge against him. 
Gwynne flushed hotly, denied the truth of the story, but hesitated when 
asked if he would allow his chest to be searched. This was quickly noted 
by Wayne and Farnham, and the search was insisted upon. Gwynne 
then said there were a few items in that chest which he allowed no one 
to see ; he pledged his soldier word that they were nothing but a paper 
or two, some little photographs, and a book. These he asked permission 
to remove first ; then they might search. But Wayne sternly refused. 
The sergeant turned very white, set his lips, and hesitated still, until 
his own captain spoke ; then he surrendered his key. Wayne and Farn- 
ham bent over the chest while the troop first sergeant rapidly turned 
over the clothing, books, etc., with trembling hands. There was a 
little compartment at one side, in which were lying some small items, — 
a pocket-compass, a pencil-case, some keys, a locket and a neck-chain, 
and, among these, something wrapped in tissue-paper. This was handed 
to Captain Wayne, who unrolled the paper, and — there was a massive 
seal-ring. A crest was cut in the stone, and, taking it to the light, 
Wayne was able to make out the motto , — “ Quod sursum volo videre.” 
It was the ring Maitland had lost. 

Stryker looked wonderingly at his sergeant, who stood there as 
though petrified with amaze and consternation, pale as death, and un- 
able to say a word. Asked to explain the matter, he could only shake 
his head, and, after a while, hoarsely mutter, “ I know nothing about 
it. I never placed it there.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me you never saw it before ?” asked Wayne, 
sternly. And Gwynne was silent. 

“ Is this the first time you ever saw it, I say ?” repeated the captain, 
angrily. 

“ No, sir : I have seen it before,” was the answer. 

“ Then you must have known ftwas stolen, and you have connived 
at its concealment,” was Wayne’s triumphant conclusion; and on the 
report of his officers Colonel Brainard had no alternative but to order 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


257 


Gwy line's close arrest. Only Stryker’s appeal and guarantee saved the 
sergeant from confinement in the guard-house. 

The next sensation was the sight of Dr. Quin galloping back to 
the post like mad and bolting unceremoniously into the colonel’s gate. 
Then Stryker was sent for, and the three officers held an excited con- 
versation. Then the orderly went at a run over to the quarters, and 
in five minutes Sergeant Gwynne, erect as ever and dressed with scru- 
pulous care, looking anything but like a guilty man, was seen crossing 
the parade towards his colonel’s house. The men swarmed out on the 
porches as the tidings went from lip to lip, and some of the Irish 
troopers in Wayne’s company were remarked as being oddly excited. 
Just what took place during that interview none could tell, but in ten 
minutes the news was flying around the garrison that Sergeant Gwynne 
was released from arrest, and in less than half an hour, to the wonder- 
ment of everybody, he was seen riding away towards Dun raven with 
Dr. Quin, and for two days more did not reappear at Rossi ter. 

But when the story flashed from house to house about the garrison 
that Sergeant Gwynne was not Sergeant Gwynne at all, but Mr. Archi- 
bald Wyndham Quin Maitland, late of Her Majesty’s — th Lancers, 
and only surviving son of the invalid owner of Dunraven Ranch and 
other valuable properties, the amaze amounted to almost stupefaction. 
It was known that old Mr. Maitland was lying desperately weak and 
ill the day that Quin the doctor came riding back. All manner of 
stories were told regarding the affecting nature of the interview in 
which the long-lost son was restored to his overjoyed father, but, like 
most stories, they were purely the offspring of imagination, for at that 
interview only three were present : Gladys led her brother to the room 
and closed the door, while good Mrs. Cowan stood weeping for joy 
down the long corridor, and Dr. Quin blinked his eyes and fussed and 
fidgeted and strode around Perry’s room with his hands in his pockets, 
exploding every now and then into sudden comment on the romantic 
nature of the situation and the idiocy of some people there at Rossiter. 
u Joy does not kill,” he said : " Maitland would have been a dead man 
by the end of the week, but for this : it will give him a new lease of 
life.” 

And it did. Though the flame was feeble and flickering, it was 
fanned by a joy unutterable. The boy whom the stricken father be- 
lieved his stubborn pride and condemnation had driven to despair and 
suicide was restored to him in the prime of manly strength, all tender- 

22 * 


268 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


ness, all forgiveness, and Maitland’s whole heart went up in thanks- 
giving. He begged that Brainard and Stryker would come to him, 
that he might thank them for their faith in his son ; he bade the doctor 
say to Perry that the moment he could be lifted from his bed he would 
come to clasp his hand and bless him for being a far better friend to 
his son than he had been a father. 

The sergeant’s return to the post was the signal for a general turn- 
out on the part of the men, all of whom were curious to see how he 
would appear now that his identity was established. Of course his 
late assailants could not join in the crowd that thronged about him, 
but they listened with eagerness to everything that was told. “ He 
was just the same as ever,” said all accounts. He had never been 
intimate with any of them, but always friendly and kind. One thing 
went the rounds like lightning. 

“ You’ll be getting your discharge now, sergeant,” said Mrs. Reed, 
the voluble wife of the leader of the band, “ and taking up your resi- 
deace at the ranch, I suppose. Of course the British minister can get 
it for you in a minute.” 

“ Not a bit of it, Mrs. Reed,” was the laughing answer. “ I en- 
listed to serve Uncle Sam five years, and he’s been too good a friend to 
me to turn from. I shall serve out my time with the — th.” 

And the sergeant was true to his word. If old Maitland could 
have prevailed, an application for his son’s discharge would have gone 
to Washington ; but this the soldier positively forbade. He had eight 
months still to serve, and he meant to carry out his contract to the 
letter. Stryker offered him a furlough, and Gwynne thankfully took 
a week, that he might be by his father’s side and help nurse him to 
better health. “ By that time, too, the garrison will have grown a little 
more accustomed to it, sir, and I will have less embarrassment in going 
on with my work.” 

Two days before his return to duty there came a modified sensation 
in the shape of the report that a trooper of Wayne’s company had 
deserted. He was a man who had borne a bad reputation as a turbu- 
lent, mischief-making fellow, and when Sergeant Leary heard of his 
going he was in a state of wild excitement. He begged to be allowed 
to see his captain, and to him he confessed that one of his little party 
of three had seen the ring drop from Mr. Maitland’s finger the night 
of the first visit to Dunraven, had managed to pick it up and carry it 
away in the confusion, and had shown it to his friend in Wayne’s troop 


DUN RAVEN RANCH. 


253 


when they got back. The latter persuaded him to let him take it, as 
the lockers of the men who were at Dunraven were sure, he said, to be 
searched. It was known that he had a grudge against Gwynne ; he 
was one of the men who was to have gone to the ranch the night they 
purposed riding down and challenging the Englishmen to come out and 
fight, but had unaccountably failed at the last moment. They believed 
that he had chosen that night to hide the ring in the sergeant’s chest : 
he could easily have entered through the window. And this explana- 
tion — the only one ever made — became at once accepted as the true one 
throughout the garrison. 

During the week of his furlough the sergeant found time to spend 
many hours by the bedside of Lieutenant Perry, who was rapidly re- 
covering, and who by the end of the week had been lifted into an easy 
invalid-chair and wheeled in to see Mr. Maitland. When not with 
Mr. Perry, the young trooper’s tongue was ever wagging in his praise. 
He knew many a fine officer and gallant gentleman in the service of 
the old country, he said, and he admired many a captain and subaltern 
in that of his adopted land, but the first one to whom he “ warmed” — 
the first one to win his affection — was the young cavalryman who had 
met his painful wound in their defence. Old Maitland listened to it 
all eagerly, — he had already given orders that the finest thoroughbred at 
Dunraven should be Perry’s the moment he was able to mount again, 
— and he was constantly revolving in mind how he could show his ap- 
preciation of the officers who had befriended his son. Mrs. Cowan, too, 
never tired of hearing Perry’s praises, and eagerly questioned when the 
narrator flagged. There wa3 another absorbed auditor, who never ques- 
tioned, and who listened with downcast eyes. It was she who seldom 
came near Perry during his convalescence, she who startled and aston- 
ished the young fellow beyond measure, the day the ambulance came 
down to drive him back to the fort, by withdrawing the hand he had 
impulsively seized when at last she appeared to bid him adieu, and 
cutting short his eager words with “ Mrs. Belknap will console you, I 
dare say,” and abruptly leaving the room. 

Poor Ned ! In dire distress and perplexity he was driven back to 
Rossiter, and that very evening he did a most sensible and fortunate 
thing : he told Mrs. Sprague all about it ; and, instead of condoling 
with him and bidding him strive to be patient and saying that all 
would come right in time, the little woman’s kind eyes shone with de- 
light, her cheeks flushed with genuine pleasure ; she fairly sprang from 


260 


D UNRAVEN RANCH. 


her chair, and danced up and down and clapped her hands and laughed 
with glee, and then, when Perry ruefully asked her if that was the 
sympathy he had a right to expect from her, she only laughed the more, 
and at last broke forth with, — 

“ Oh, you great, stupid, silly boy ! You ought to be wild with 
happiness. Can't you see she’s jealous ?” 

And the very next day she had a long talk with Dr. Quin, whose 
visits to Dunraven still continued; and one bright afternoon when 
Gladys Maitland rode up to the fort to return calls, she managed to 
have quite a chat with her, despite the fact that Mrs. Belknap showed a 
strong desire to accompany that fair English girl in all three of her 
visits. In this effort, too, the diplomatic services of Captain Stryker 
proved rather too much for the beauty of the garrison. Was it possible 
that Mrs. Sprague had enlisted him also in the good cause? Certain 
it is that the dark-featured captain was Miss Maitland’s escort as she 
left the garrison, and that it was with the consciousness of impending 
defeat that Mrs. Belknap gave utterance to the opening sentence of this 
chapter : Mr. Perry had distinctly avoided her ever since his return. 

One lovely evening late in May Mr. Perry was taking his first ride 
on the new horse, a splendid bay, and a perfect match for Gladys Mait- 
land’s favorite mount. Already had this circumstance excited smiling 
comment in the garrison ; but if the young man himself had noted the 
close resemblance it conveyed no blissful augury. Everybody remarked 
that he had lost much of his old buoyancy and life; and it must be 
confessed he was not looking either blithe or well. Parke had sug- 
gested riding with him, — an invitation which Perry treated so coldly 
that the junior stopped to think a moment, and began to see through 
the situation ; and so Mr. Perry was suffered to set forth alone that 
evening, and no one was surprised when, after going out of the west 
gate as though bent on riding up the Monee, he was presently seen to 
have made the circuit of the post and was slowly cantering down to- 
wards the lower valley. Out on the eastern prairie another horseman 
could be seen ; and presently the two came together. Colonel Brainard 
took down his binocular and gazed out after them. 

“ I declare,” said he, “ those two figures are so much alike I cannot 
tell which of them is Perry.” 

“ Then the other is Sergeant G wynne, colonel,” said Stryker, quietly. 
u Put him ir our uniform, and it would indeed be hard to tell the two 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 261 

figures apart. Mr. Maitland told me last week that that was what so 
startled and struck him the first time he saw Perry.” 

“ How is Mr. Maitland now, do you know ?” 

“He gets no better. After the first week of joy and thanksgiving 
over his boy’s restoration to him, the malady seemed to reassert itself. 
Dunraven will have a new master by winter, I fancy.” 

The colonel was silent a moment. Then he suddenly asked, — 

“ By the way, how was it that Gwynne wasn't drowned ? I never 
understood that.” 

“ He never meant to be,” said Stryker. u He told Perry all about 
it. He was ruined, he thought, in his profession and his own country, 
and he knew his father’s inexorable pride : so he simply decided to put 
an end to Archie Maitland and start a new life for himself. He wrote 
his letters and arranged his property with that view, and called the 
steward to enable him to swear he was in his state-room after the 
steamer weighed anchor. Then in a jiffy he was over the side in the 
darkness ; it was flood-tide, and he was an expert swimmer ; he reached 
a coasting- vessel lying near; he had money, bought his passage to 
France, after a few days at Cape Town, and then came to America and 
enlisted. He got a confession out of one of the irregulars who was 
with him, Perry says, and that was one of the papers he was guarding 
so jealously. He had given others to Perry that very night.” 

“ They seemed to take to each other like brothers from the start,” 
said the colonel, with a quiet smile. 

“ Just about,” answered Captain Stryker. 

Meantime. Perry and Sergeant Gwynne have been riding slowly 
down the valley. Night has come upon Dunraven by the hour they 
reach the northern gate, — no longer closed against them, — and as they 
near the house Perry slowly dismounts. “ I’ll take the horses to the 
stable myself : I want to,” says his trooper friend, and for the second 
time the young officer stands upon the veranda at the door- way, then 
holds his hand as he hears again the soft melody of the piano floating 
out upon the still night-air. Slowly and not without pain he walks 
around to the east front, striving to move with noiseless steps. At last 
he stands by the open casement, just where he had paused in surprise 
that night a month agone, and, slowly drawing aside one heavy fold 
of curtain, gazes longingly in at Gladys Maitland, seated there at the 
piano, just where he first saw her lovely face and form. Her fingers 
are wandering idly over the keys, playing little fragmentary snatches 


262 


DUNRAVEN RANCH. 


— first one melody, then another; her sweet blue eyes are fixed on 
vacancy, — she sees nothing in that room, or near it ; she is paler than 
when he first looked upon her, and there are traces of deep anxiety ana 
of some hidden sorrow in the fair, fresh face. Presently, under the 
soft touch of her fingers, a sweet, familiar melody comes rippling forth. 
He remembers it instantly ; it is the same he heard the night of his 
first visit, — that exquisite “ Spring Song” of Mendelssohn’s, — and he 
listens, spell-bound. All of a sudden the sweet strains are broken off, 
the music ceases ; she has thrown herself forward, bowed her queenly 
head upon her arms, and, leaning over the key-board, her form is 
shaken by a storm of passionate tears. Perry hurls aside the shelter- 
ing curtain and limps rapidly across the soft and noiseless rug. She 
never dreams of his presence until, close at her side, a voice she has 
learned to know and know well — a voice tremulous with love, sympa- 
thy, and yearning — murmurs only her name, “ Gladys,” and, starting 
up, she looks one instant into his longing eyes. 

Sergeant “ Gwynne” Maitland, lifting the heavy portUre a moment 
later, stops short at the entrance, gazes one second at the picturesque 
scene at the piano, drops the porti&re, and vanishes, unnoticed. 

Things seem changed at Dunraven of late years. The — th are 
still at Rossiter ; so is Lieutenant Perry. It may be the climate, or 
association with an American sisterhood, or — who knows? — perhaps 
somebody has told her of Mrs. Belknap’s prediction, but Mrs. Perry 
has not yet begun to grow coarse, red-faced, or stout. She is wonder- 
fully popular with the ladies of the — th, and has found warm friends 
among them, but Mrs. Sprague of the infantry is the woman she 
particularly fancies, and her gruff old kinsman Dr. Quin is ever a 
welcome guest at their fireside. It was he, she told her husband long 
after, who undid the mischief Mrs. Belknap had been able to sow in 
one brief conversation. “I’ve known that young woman ever since 
she wore pinafores, Gladys. She has some good points, too, but her 
one idiosyncrasy is that every man she meets should bow down to and 
worship her. She is an Alexander in petticoats, sighing for new worlds 
to conquer, has been a coquette from the cradle, and — what she can’t 
forgive in Ned Perry is that he simply did not fall in love with her 
as she thought he had.” 

Down at Dunraven the gates are gone, the doors are ever hospitably 
open. Ewen is still manager de jure , but young Mr. Maitland, the 


D ZJNRA VEN RANCH. 


263 


proprietor, is manager de facto, and, though there is constant going 
and coming between the fort and the ranch, and the officers of the — th 
ride in there at all hours, what makes the ranchman so popular among 
the rank and file is the fact that Sergeant “ Gwynne,” as they still call 
him, has a warm place in his heart for one and all, and every year 
when the date of his enlistment in the — th comes round he gives a 
barbecue dinner to the men, whereat there are feasting and drinking of 
healths and song and speech-making, and Leary and Donovan and even 
the recreant Kelly are apt to be boisterously prominent on such occasions, 
but blissfully so, — for there hasn’t been a shindy of any kind since 
their old comrade stepped into his possessions at Dunraven Ranch. 


TALE END. 




























































































, 















































































































































































































































APR 1 7 1916 




* 





























































































































































































































































































« 












































































































































































































































































